The Way Back Home
by Twilight Author Girl
Summary: A young, blonde, blue-eyed boy once roamed between these pews. He slept in this room, he wandered these gardens, and served at this altar. For the first time since he was turned, over three hundred and fifty years ago, Carlisle steps foot in the church that raised him, his beliefs, and the morals that he's carried with him for centuries. Fluff and a little lemons with C/Es included
1. Bound for London

_**Just a quick introduction before we get into the story.**_

_**This story was inspired from a prompt you will find both here on and on tumblr by an amazing writer with the handle "esmeaplatt". Here on you'll find it under the title "ornate embellishments".**_

_**Disclaimer: Permission by the author has been given to expand the original prompt to a longer story.**_

**Esme's POV**

This year was the mark of Carlisle's 380th birthday. Ever since his 350th, I had been trying to convince him to make to journey back to London to see his childhood home, the church he had lived in for 23 years. We had gone to London several times since I had joined him and Edward, but it was never for that purpose. It was usually medical conferences. And every year I asked him to make the trip, he had been reluctant, making excuses or making himself busy.

"_It's under renovation,"_

"_I have a conference this weekend,"_

"_It's not important,"_

But excuses of any kind were still excuses.

I knew he was hesitant because of the memories he knew lingered in his unforgetting mind. He had shared a few with me when we first got to know each other. but many he kept to himself, telling me they were darker than I could fathom.

Since his change, he had never really gone back to a church, minus our wedding, despite his frequent bible verse recitations, and prayers he would say silently to himself in moments of hardship. I knew deep inside of my husband there was a shadow of a man who wanted the fellowship of his life back, despite assuring me how happy he was with this one. There was never enough convincing or assuring I could do to get him to go back to church. I never understood why.

This was a week ago when I brought up the subject, like clockwork every year, I was already expecting his normal "_No"_ followed by this year's reason not to do it.

_I knocked on the doorframe of the office we shared, where my husband was pining over a book at his desk. He looked up and his eyes met mine when he did._

"_Hello, my love," he said with a welcoming smile. _

"_Hi," I said in almost a whisper, as I approached him slowly, before gently sitting on the edge of his desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, a soft look on his face._

"_You look like you have something on you mind, darling," he spoke in his soft tone, touching my leg with a hand. I smiled shyly, looking down at my leg and curling my fingers into his, staring at his wedding band, the silver catching the light._

"_Are you going to do it this year?" I asked him. He sighed heavily, squeezing my hand slightly. He slumped back in his chair, pursing his lips slightly. I hung my head, my eyes falling away from his. There was silence between us for several moments._

"_I am," his voice broke the silence, and I sharply looked up at him. my face scrunched into a soft twist of confusion, not expecting his answer._

"_You are?" I wanted to be sure I heard him correctly. He nodded only two times. My confusion warped into a smiled._

"_I booked a flight to London a few months ago," he said, sitting up slightly, "We leave in a week," he added and my smiled warped back to confusion._

"_We?" I questioned. He chuckled softly to himself._

"_You are coming with me, I hope," he stated, as if I should have known. I smiled widely as he stood up and stood before me._

"_I would love too," I smiled up at him and he leaned in to place a soft kiss on my cheek._

I was standing in the office, running my fingers over the antique books. I was waiting for Carlisle to come home from work so we could pack the car and leave for the airport. I often spend my time alone in the office, or in our room, feeling comforted by his lingering scent on objects. As my index finger flittered over the books, I heard the crunch of the gravel in the driveway, the sound of his car approaching the house. I smiled, abandoning the sanctity of the office, to run downstairs and greet him.

I reached the front door just as he stepped inside.

"Hello love," he said with a smile, planting a chivalrous kiss on my cheek. I kissed his lips, before he could set his bag down. He chuckled.

"How was your night?" I asked him as he took his coat off, hanging it up. He shrugged slightly.

"It was quiet, you could say. No emergencies, thankfully," he told me, as he turned and pulled me into his arms. I laughed softly, placing my palms on his chest, my fingers toying with the pen that sat in his breast-pocket, "Are you ready to go?" he asked me, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair. I nodded, glancing to the side where our bags sat, packed and ready to load. He smiled, "Why don't you go find our children, and I'll load the car," she said, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, before releasing me from his embrace, and picking up two bags.

I smiled to myself and turned, heading towards the shop, where Rosalie, Emmett, and Jacob had been working on Emmett's jeep most of the night. So far, I hadn't heard any sudden commotion, indicating that Rose and Jake hadn't tried to kill one another yet over something simple.

Pushing the back door open, I trekked down the stone path through my garden and across the yard to the shop. I approach the shop, hearing the screech of some power tool from within. I hauled the heavy metal door open, and the scent of oil, and grease, and gasoline hitting my nostrils.

They had the big silver jeep jacked up on the rig, Rosalie was beneath it on a trolley, tinkering with something. Suddenly a tool flew past my head, mere inches away, and I gasped, seeing Emmett catch whatever had been throw at him. Jacob turned around and his eyes went wide.

"Sorry Mrs.C! Didn't see you there," he apologized, worried, as he scratched the back of his head, and I shook my head with a chuckle,

"It's ok Jacob, no harm done," I assured him. Rosalie rolled herself out from under the jeep. Emmett jogged over and help Rose to her feet. She was covered in dirt and grease, but her hair, in a tight French braid, was protected by a bandana.

"Hey, Ma," Emmett said cheerfully, "What's up?"

"Your father and I are leaving soon," I said, looking at the three of them.

"Gimme five," Rose grumbled, "I want to get this stupid bolt in place," she said, almost frustrated at the bolt she was holding. I nodded, and swiftly left the shop, heading back to the house.

Inside, Alice was sitting with Jasper on the couch, the two of them snuggled up, watching a movie.

"We're coming," Alice said with a smile, pulling Jasper to his feet before I could say anything. I chuckled lightly and turned heading toward the sound of Edwards piano.

"I'm coming mom," he said, stopping his ballot that he was playing. I smiled sweetly at him as he stood up, closing his piano, and headed upstairs, probably heading to find Bella and Ness.

I wandered back through the house, finding Carlisle at the front door, picking up the last bag from the floor; my purse, and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said, slipping it over my shoulder, as he held the door open for me, and followed me toward the car. Emmet, Jake, and Rose rounded the corner of the house, approaching us as I set my purse in the passenger side of the car. Alice and Jasper appeared from the front door, with Edward, Bella, and Ness behind them.

I smiled at them all, giving each one a hug.

"The house had better be intact when we get back," I scolded teasingly, looking at Emmett specifically. I chuckled and gave me a bear hug.

"No getting in any mischief," he said and let me go, giving his father a tiny fist bump to the chest. Carlisle shook his head at our son.

"We'll be back in a week," I told them, as Carlisle held the car door open for me. The kids waved goodbye as Carlisle shut the door and climbed into the driver's side. We buckled up and waved out the window as we backed out of the driveway, heading towards the main road.

We didn't live overly far from the airport. Thirty minutes at the most. As we pulled onto the highway, I looked over at my husband, who had quite a firm grip on the steering wheel with both hands. I reached over and gently grasped his wrist, pulling one hand from the wheel and lacing my fingers between his to calm him slightly.

"Relax," I whispered softly too him. He smiled faintly at me and turned his attention back to the road. We drove in silence.

We boarded our flight shortly after getting though TSA and made ourselves comfortable for the roughly 8-hour, over-sea flight.

Carlisle and I settled into our seats in first class, as we prepared to take off. I tuned out the flight attendant over the intercom reciting the safety protocol I had heard a hundred times in my life. I leaned closer to my husband, resting my head on his shoulder, and rubbing circles on the top of his hand with my thumb.

As we reached cruising altitude, I lifted the chair arm between us and snuggled up to his side, closing my eyes and faking a nap, breathing in his scent, talking softly to him as we relaxed.

"I know you're nervous," I said to him, the two of us talking at a volume of which humans around us couldn't hear us. Carlisle looked over at me, "What made you change you mid this time?" I asked him, as he reached up with his free hand and softly brushed a piece of hair from my forehead. He leaned close to my ear.

"I feel like there's a lingering fear in me," he began, and I looked up at him, "of seeing what the centuries have done to the place I grew up,"

"I'm sure everything will be ok," I tried to assure him, but his tenseness didn't seem to dissipate.

"I wish I could explain to you the things I've seen in my years. Especially in my first 10 years that I lingered in the countryside outside the city," he told me. I touched his cheek softly.

"We can have this conversation later if you want?" I offered and he sighed, nodding in agreement. I snuggled back up to him and relaxed in his embrace for the entire flight.


	2. Comfort of Esme

**Carlisle's POV**

We landed in London just as nightfall approached. Esme had not moved from my side the entire flight. We had both sat in relative silence for the 8 hours. I faked a few naps to avoid suspicion of the wandering flight attendants.

The nightlife of a Friday night in London was just beginning to pick up. Cars were still moving about the roads at a steady pace. Many young adults were out and about.

It was dark by the time we reached our hotel. A fairly high-end hotel in Mayfair, situated directly East of the infamous Hyde Park. The view across the A4202 of the park lit up was a breathtaking sight. We were a close distance to both Westminster and Kensington; two places Esme had expressed interest in wandering around while we were here.

I hauled our bags through the door of our room, as Esme held it open for me. She softly closed the door behind me, swiftly locking it and flicking on the lights. As I set both of our bags down on the bed, she silently flitted over to the window, drawing the curtains closed for the night, shutting the world out. I turned to her as she approached me, pulling her into a hug.

"Do you want to talk now?" she asked me, her voice soft in my ear before she pulled back slightly, gold eyes peering up into mine. I had to let out a heavy sigh.

"How about we clean up and get settled first?" I suggested, and she nodded as I let go of her. She turned her suitcase, unzipping it and pulling out her clothes and bag that she took into the bathroom. I sighed to myself, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, setting both of our bags on the floor, and climbing onto the bed, propping myself against the headboard and closing my eyes, trying to think to myself.

But my mind couldn't focus. It drifted to memories of my human life, memories that regularly came to mind when I came to my homeland. It was strange to feel these things. Nothing about modern day London resembled the city of my childhood; other than a few historical landmarks and buildings, it was like I was in a foreign place.

"Carlisle?" the gentle voice of my wife pulled me from my trance. I wasn't sure how long I had tuned out of reality. She stood at the foot of the queen-sized bed, dressed in her pyjamas. A grey, knee length night gown, her short, purple satin, kimono style robe wrapped around her. She had brushed out her hair and removed her makeup, "Are you ok, hun?" she asked as she rounded to my right; her side of the bed, turning out the lights and turning on the bedside lamp instead. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed for a moment, before crawling up beside me. She propped a pillow behind her back, leaning against the headboard, and opened her arms to me. I couldn't help but be drawn in, snuggling up to her, my arms wrapped around her midsection, head rested against her breast. She kissed my forehead, and one hand lightly caressed my hair.

"I don't know," I whispered against her chest, closing my eyes, and inhaling the scent of her hair that fell over her shoulders and was just near my nose. I really didn't know.

"Talk to me, my love," she spoke softly, in that motherly tone, comforting, and calm. I felt like a child being consoled by their mother. It calmed the uneasiness in me. I stroked the right side of her midsection with my left hand that draped across her. A shaky sigh came from my chest.

"The thought of stepping back into that church," I spoke quietly, numbly, "It's daunting,"

Esme continued to rub small circles on my back while her other hand fingered through my tousles of hair.

"You're scared," she said tenderly. It wasn't a question, but more of a statement. I nodded against her body, and there was silence between us once more before she spoke up again, "You've never taken the time to grieve, have you?" she asked on the most concerned caring tone I had ever heard. I had to bite my bottom lip hard to hold back sobs that I knew were threatening to escape my body. I knew she felt the tenseness of my body, and rested her cheek atop my head, her right hand gently stroking my cheek. "I'm here," she said sweetly, "If you need to,"

Unstable, dry sobs escaped my lips as I buried my face entirely against her body. her embrace on my tightened, and I felt a kiss to my temple.

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighed, her voice sad; full of empathy and love.

"It's hard just being in the city," I admitted to her, "I don't know if I'll keep it together walking through those gates," I said, trying to hold back the pain and sadness, but couldn't.

"Sssshhh," Esme's hush rang distantly in my ears.

"The cobblestone… the gardens…. roses…" I mumbled things that probably didn't sound coherent to my poor wife, who was attempting to comfort me. But my brain found them perfectly understandable;

_The cobblestone path that lined the courtyard of the gardens, off to the side of the church. Many days I sat in those gardens, watching clouds roll by. The garden was filled with apothecary roses._

"Calm down, my love," Esme hushed soothingly to me. I managed to control my dry sobs, but still clung to my wife in desperate need of the comfort, "Gather your thoughts; speak slowly," she encouraged me. I recognized those words. The exact words I had said to her the first time she had a breakdown in front of me.

"_Esme it's ok," I tried to assure her. Her blood red eyes stared back at mine. They had once been a soft orange, until she had slipped. She had been doing so well in the past month's, controlling her bloodlust. Until a human crossed our path on a hunt._

"_No! It's….it's…he…he's dead…it's not, I killed…I'm…murderer… oh god-" she sat curled up against a tree, panicking as she tried not to look at the corpse of a man that lay 15 feet to her left. Her clothing was soaked with blood. It clung to her skin, smeared across her mouth as she had tried to wipe it away. She was sobbing dryly. _

_I knelt beside her, grasping her arms gently, in an attempt to calm her, but to no prevail._

"_Monster… he's dead. It's my fault…I'm just like…don't leave me," she cried unfinished, incoherent sentences as her bloody, half-matted hair hung in her face. I reached up cautiously to push her hair out of her eyes._

"_You're not a monster," I spoke calmly and softly to her, but firm, "Gather your thoughts; speak slowly," I said to her, and her crying calmed._

"I remember a lot from my human life…memories…and it's scares me," I said softly, feeling Esme's lips against my forehead. I sat up slightly, still holding onto her, and rested my head in the crook of her neck.

"Tell me about it," she said quietly, a hand gently resting against my chest. Her soft touches calmed my nerves a considerable amount. I took a deep breath.

"The scent of singed human flesh, and fat burning. I can't forget it…rotten. The cloying scent pulls at your lungs. It forces you to cough," I began to explain to her, "I had nightmares about it from as early as I can remember…Every night I would have to sneak outside for fresh air,"

"I'm so sorry, Carlisle," Esme whispered, wrapping her hands around my head and holding me tightly.

"I'm just…scared," I mumbled into her skin.

We sat in silence, for minutes or hours, I wasn't sure. Memories would creep their way into my thoughts, I would tense, Esme would soothe me. Repeat.

"I never knew what happened to my father," I said, breaking the silence. Esme looked down at me, prompting me to day more, "I never went back after the fire in 1666," I admitted, "I don't know if he perished in the devastation,"

"I wish I understood how bad it was," Esme said sincerely, gently scratching the back of my head with her fingers, and then pulled softly at the tuffs.

"It's hard to explain, love. Even the recreations in documentaries are no where near the same as seeing it with your own eyes," I told her, letting a sigh escape my chest.

"Would you like to go maybe search for his grave tomorrow?" she asked, her tone a little nervous. I looked up at my wife. So sweet, so thoughtful, but so very clueless on the times in which I grew up.

"We weren't wealthy, darling. If my father was buried, I wouldn't know where to even start looking," I told her.

"Why don't y-"

I cut her off before she could keep pressing me.

"Esme. There's a lot you'll never be able to comprehend about the time I grew up in. If my father survived the plague in '65 and the fire in '66 by some miracle, he was probably buried without a headstone, or if he was, it's likely long been destroyed," I told her rather sharply, and then sunk back into my shell, feeling bad for snapping at her when she was just trying to help, "I'm sorry," I said softly, my eyes full of guilt. Her look of hurt melted into one of forgiveness.

"It's ok," she whispered, "Just talk to me," she added. I sighed, pulling away from her body, and laying on my right side, facing her. She shuffled herself to lay down as well, facing me. I reached for her, pulling her close to my chest, caressing her right cheek softly with the back of my fingers, trailing them off her jaw. Her hands touched my chest gently.

"I've only ever told you simple details of my human life," I told her as her eyes stared back into mine, the curiosity in them was evident, but also fear. I bit my lips, afraid to tell her of the horrors I had seen as a boy. "I was two years old when the English civil war began. When I was five, my father took me to watch the execution of William Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury. I spent day in and day out watching my father condemn people he saw as evil. Possessed by the devil. Innocent people with lives, homes, and families," I explained to her. I had to close my eyes, for looking at her and telling these horrors were difficult, "I was nine when King Charles I was beheaded. My father took me to the square, lifted me up over the people gathered to watch this man die, and forced me to witness the executioner behead him,"

Esme's hand touched my cheek and I opened my eyes, swallowing the thick venom in my mouth, nervously, "When I was fifteen, my father stood me in front of a 4 year old peasant girl, tied to the stake, handed me his book, and forced me to read the set of bible versus he had combined to condemn the wicked," I told her, and she opened her mouth slightly thinking a touch more before speaking,

"You remember them?" she asked, and I nodded.

"John 8:44, Revelation 21:8, Ecclesiastes 8:11," I said grimly, "You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death. Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil," I recited to Esme.

"_Proceed, boy!" my father spoke harshly to me from my side. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking as I clutched the book a had just recited the words from. My eyes lifted from the pages and trailed up to meet the terrified face of the poor girl. She was crying for her mother, who two men were holding back. They had gagged her with rags to silence her screams and pleas for her child. Forcing this mother to watch her child burn was equally as cruel as burning the girl in the first place._

"_Carlisle!" he said, stern and angry that I was stalling. I couldn't look at him, I couldn't look at the child. The mother turned her gaze to me, tears pouring down her face, her look as pleading as it could possibly be. I took a deep breath, on the verge of tears myself, and closed my eyes, forcing myself to lift my right hand and make the sign of the cross to the girl._

_I heard it…the wood pile crackling as it engulfed the girl in flames, her screams dying out quickly. Pain grew in my chest from holding back the crying, combined with the choking scent of human flesh having been set on fire… I couldn't stand here. I closed the book, and turned to leave the horrific sight, but my fathers hand gripped my shoulder tightly as I tried to pass him._

"_Thou shalt gaze upon this!" he ordered me, and I looked up at him, anger fueling my words._

"_Thee wilt feeleth the fires of Hell for this!" I snapped back at him, taking my father by surprise and I stormed pass him, back into the church, slamming the door behind me. The tears spilled over, and on the steps on the sanctuary, I wept._

_I took the severest of beatings that night._

_And the girl had been condemned for nothing more than stealing from the market. _

_She died over a loaf of bread. Pointlessly, painfully._

"Carlisle?" Esme's soft voice pulled me from my memories. I coughed involuntarily, as if I had inhaled the smoke again. Esme's hands rubbed my chest slowly.

"Even if I found my father's grave… I'd have nothing to do but spit on it," I told her, my voice much deeper and darker than she was used to, and she pulled away from me slightly.

"Carlisle, I think you should stop…something's changing in you," she said, cautiously moving closer again, "It's scaring me a little,"

"I'm sorry my love. I don't mean to…My past is so much darker than you would imagine," I apologized to her.

"I don't understand," she began softly, "You were surrounded by violence, and evil, and darkness your entire human life… why are you so soft, and kind, and loving?" she asked me. I sighed, pulling her close to let her scent calm me, and touched our noses together.

"I've always believed it was my mother," I said in a near whisper tone, "I never knew her, my father never spoke of her. But my heart always believed I was just like her," I finished. Esme nuzzled into my neck.

"Oh Carlisle," she whispered against my skin.

"I knew what she looked like at least," I told her, and she lifted her head to look at me, "My father had a painting of her done once. It hung in the room where we slept. It's likely long been destroyed," I said, brushing a strand of her hair away from her eyes.

"If she's just like you, I would have loved to meet her," she told me with a gentle smile. I caressed her cheek as a sad thought came over me,

"Me too," I said quietly. Esme looked at me, sadness behind her eyes, and leaned closer, placing a tender kiss on my lips. Comforting.

As our lips parted, I opened my eyes, and the sadness glazed over them again.

"If I were to be honest, I'm surprised I made it to 23," I told her. Esme furrowed her brow,

"Surprised? But you were young," she said, unsure. I touched her cheek,

"Yes, my dear, I was young, maybe by todays standards, and maybe even by the standards of your time. But in my time, the average life expectancy was 40. If I hadn't been turned, the plague of '65 probably would have taken me. My life was half over already," I explained to her. Her brow relaxed and warped into shock, "Vaccines didn't exist. Whooping cough, diphtheria, dysentery, tuberculosis, typhus, typhoid fever, rickets, chicken pox, measles, scarlet fever, smallpox, thrush, parasites, and plague were all causes of death in children. Rarely if a child caught these would they come out alive," I had to explain to her, "Accidents were so common people didn't even bat an eye if they heard a child had drowned in the river, or a cradle caught fire from being to close to open flames. Toddlers were often run over by horse and carts," I was saying until I had to stop myself, seeing Esme's horrified expression.

"Oh my god," she breathed out. I nodded slowly. It truly was terrible. It seemed nearly every Sunday my father was reading a death announcement to the congregation.

"I think that's enough for tonight, love," I said to her. She nodded, and reached down, pulling the covers over us. I smiled softly, pulling her into a tight embrace, "Where would you like to go explore tomorrow?" I asked her, causing her to smile.

"Just a few places," she said with a grin; which meant _many _places.


	3. The Cosmati Pavement

**Esme's POV**

Carlisle and I snuggled in bed until the sky began to light up as the sun rose. I gave him a soft kiss on his cheek and slipped out of his arms to climb off the bed. Carlisle grumbled, running his fingers through his hair as he rolled over, watching me saunter to the window. I pushed the curtains open and beams of sunlight hit my skin, making me take a few steps back.

"Damn," I sighed, looking up at the sky and seeing blue, with very few clouds. I sighed, closing the curtains slightly again and turned to my husband. Carlisle propped himself up on his elbows, "I was hoping to walk around today," I sighed, wandering back over to him, and sitting gently on his side of the bed. He sat up and slipped his arms around my waist, pulling me to lay next to him. I smiled as he kissed my neck softly.

"Sorry hun," he said, "The weather here can be a bit unpredictable,"

"It's ok," I whispered, rolling over and crawling on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands rubbed my thighs.

"We can stay inside and just snuggle," he suggested to me, his hands roaming my body as I looked down at him, my fingers playing with his t-shirt.

"Can you talk to me more?" I asked him, as his fingers pulled at the satin belt of my robe. I grabbed his wrists, tangling our fingers together and pinning his hands to the bed. He chuckled, and then sighed to himself.

"If we can wait until tomorrow, love, I'd appreciate that," he said softly. I nodded, and laid myself on his chest, kissing his collar bone, "What would you like to do instead?" he asked, wrapping his arms around me in a hug. I thought about it for a minute, not coming up with anything.

"What can a vampire couple do in sunny London?" I asked him, lifting my head and smiling at him. He chuckled.

"There's not a lot, love," he said, "We're kind of trapped inside until some cloud cover rolls in,"

I sighed, hanging my head, and flopped down beside him, back in my spot on the bed.

"Don't worry hun, it's the UK. Give it an few hours. It might cloud over by noon," he said, rolling over onto his side and slipping an arm around me.

"Well what do you suggest we do until then?" I asked him, feeling a hand pulling at my robe belt again.

"I think you have an idea," he whispered in my ear, successful in undoing my robe. I looked over at him and chuckled, sitting up and slipping my robe off, tossing it to the side. Then I reached over grabbing the remote for the TV and flicking it on, relaxing back into my pillow. I heard my husband groan to himself. Carlisle rolled over on top of me, kissing the cleavage that was exposed in my night gown.

"Carlisle," I said to him, lifting his head from my chest, "Honestly hun, I'm not in the mood," I told him, touching his cheek softly, feeling bad for rejecting him.

"You can watch you're thing. I'll just do it for me," he said with a suggestive shrug. I shrugged as well.

"Ok," I said, adjusting myself so I could see around him, as he kissed my cleavage and sucked gently on my breasts, while I watched the TV. Carlisle was only trying to calm himself and take his mind off the thoughts that plagued his mind. I knew he wanted to go to the church tomorrow after the Sunday Mass was over, but the idea of it was baring down on him. So, I let him relax his nerves.

I ran my fingers through his hair softly as he did, only groaning quietly when he sucked a little too hard. It was soothing to me as well in a way. The way a child suckled their mother. A very soft, repetitive pattern. Eventually I turned my attention away from the TV, closing my eyes and just enjoying the sensation.

"I like this," I said softly to him, and he lifted his head, giving me a gentle smile.

"Suddenly in the mood?" he asked, kissing my collar bone. I chuckled lightly.

"Not for full out… but if you want to…ravish me...I'd gladly comply," I said with a slight smirk. Carlisle smiled with a nod, and started kissing down my body, his hands pushing my night gown up and exposing my body, as he kissed my navel. His hand found its way between my legs, touching me softly over my underwear. I moaned quietly, as his mouth made its way lower, pushing my underwear aside, exposing my core to the open air. And then it was covered by him mouth. I moaned softly, arching my back slightly, "Carlisle," I whispered to him, as he tongued me gently, not in a pleasurable way but a way that relaxed my body and mind into a state of peacefulness.

"Feel good?" he asked, lifting his head. I nodded, relaxing into my pillow, letting my love do his thing. His hands rubbed my thighs soothingly. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling it gently.

He tongued me for quite some time before he slithered back up my body, returning gracious attention to my breasts and neck for several minutes.

I turned my head, glancing at the window, noticing the ray of sunlight that had been streaming through the crack of the curtains had disappeared. But enjoying the gentle worshiping my husband was giving me, and found myself not caring if we ended up going out today.

Though, at last, Carlisle pulled away from me and laid in his spot beside me. I rolled onto my side to face him, kissing his lips softly.

"You don't seem like you have any intention of wanting to go outside, my love," he smiled at me cheekily as he brushed my hair away from eyes. I buried my face against his chest, giggling in protest.

"I could spend every day in bed with you," I mumbled against him, inhaling his scent. Carlisle chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace.

"I'm sure you would like to darling. But with the clouds rolling in, there are many places I'd like to take you, that I'm sure you'll love," he said, trying to convince me. I looked up at him, smiling.

"What places do you have in mind?" I asked him, sitting up slightly. Carlisle pursed his lips,

"When there's many parks, castles, and cathedrals I think you'll enjoy. I do know you have a soft spot for flora and architecture," he said with a hopeful smile, "Westminster Abbey is one I think you'll find particular interest in walking through. Buckingham is really more just a beauty to marvel at from a distance," he told me, "The park across from us, Hyde Park; interesting fact, it had just become open to the public just a few years before I was born,"

I smiled. I knew enough of history to know that so much of London had changed since my husband's time, that there was less than a handful of buildings were left. And even then, they had been rebuilt so many times you could hardly call them original. It was why I felt it was so important to visit the church of his childhood. There wasn't much I knew about the church, as Carlisle did not speak of it often.

"Westminster sounds like it would capture my intrigue," I said to him. He beamed, slipping off the bed and standing up.

"Well my dear, we'd better get dressed and begin our day," he said, offering me both his hands. I gently took them, and he bent down, kissing my cheek lightly before I stood and slipped my arms around his torso, holding him for a moment, just enjoying the embrace for a moment longer.

"I love you," I mumbled softly into his shirt.

"And I, you, my love," he whispered back. I held him for a few more moments, before letting go and sauntering over to my suitcase.

Sifting through my clothing, I settled on a Boho-style dress I had bought myself a few months back. Black and patterned with largely printed bunches of flowers. It had caplet sleeves, a V-neck, and a belted midsection. The front was short, brushing just below my knees; the back was long, almost touching the ground. It was a very light, flowy material.

Quickly, I changed into the dress, smoothing it out until I deemed it acceptable. I brushed out my hair, leaving it with a soft, silky wave.

"I love that dress on you," I heard my husband comment and I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him button up his shirt. It was a casual polo, a dark blue, that he had paired with his typical black slacks and dress shoes, despite them clearly not being "walking shoes" if we were to appear human.

"Oh… thank you," I said with a smiled, brushing the front of the dress with my hands once more. Carlisle chuckled lightly, turning from his bag, and brushed past me as he stepped into the bathroom to adjust his hair. I smiled to myself, as I slipped my crest bracelet on my wrists, and adjusted my hair once more.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, slipping my black sandals on, Carlisle reappeared from the bathroom.

"So the Abbey, maybe Buckingham if the weather holds up. Where else?" he asked, as he carelessly tossed the loose items he had sifted through, back into his bag before closing the lid. I shrugged to him.

"Wherever you deem fit I guess," I said, adjusting the strap on my shoe so it fit properly. Carlisle chuckled, then sighed, sauntering over to me and cupping my cheek softly.

"That's for tomorrow, my love," he said with a smiled that was a touch sad behind the eyes. I stood up, hugging him lightly, before entwining our fingers.

"Let's go, before this weather gives out on us," I said with a grin. Carlisle smiled back as he lifted my purse off the bed, slipping it on m shoulder for me. I smiled with a "thank you" nod, linking our hands again, before leaving our hotel.

"Taxi or bus?" I asked him as we stepped outside. The clouds had rolled in, cloaking London from the sun.

"We can walk if you'd like to get a little simple sightseeing in. It's just a 20-minute walk to the gates of Buckingham, and the Victoria Memorial, and 15 more to Westminster Palace. And Big Ben is just a block from the Abbey as well," he said with a grin. I nodded and we started heading down the street.

"So, what might we be passing on our walk about?" I asked him as we walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. Carlisle glanced around, as if to take in the sights himself.

"I believe Grosvenor Square is along our path before we turn down Berkeley Square and head in the direction of Green Park. Once we cut through the park and cross Constitution Hill, the Victoria Memorial is out front of Buckingham," he explained to me as I glanced around us. I chuckled to myself, at a thought.

"There sure is a lot of Squares and Parks here," I giggled. Carlisle chuckled lightly.

"Yes I suppose you're right, love. The city is littered with many beautiful parks these days," he said, sighing at the end. I turned my head in curiosity.

"These days?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

"Love, the city of my time was smaller, dirty, and crowded, loud..." he said, his voice trailing off as he looked around that the clean pavement, the cars bustling by, buildings of brick and beauty towering over us. It made one feel ant-like in a way.

"Oh," I whispered so only he could hear. I felt his hand squeeze mine gently.

"I know it's hard to imagine. Just think village-like. Dirt roads, crowded alleys, smog in most areas," he said in a low, soft tone so no human passing us would find our topic of conversation odd, "Animals, as many as there were people, if not more" he added, "Plague regularly riddled the land. It was a rough place to live compared to modern days,".

"It sounds miserable," I mumbled as we waited for a crosswalk light to change.

"It was…hard," Carlisle said in a hushed tone as the light changed and we kept walking. I was quiet for a minute as we rounded a block and headed into Green Park. I took the time to admire the lush green the park had to offer. A warm, clouded summer day.

"Anything else?" I heard my husband asked and looked at him, dumbfounded for a moment, before realizing he was continuing the conversation. Oh…

"Oh…umm….Did you ever do anything outside of home?" I asked, seeing the children that played a game of soccer…erm…football I guess it was call here.

"Not really," Carlisle said with a subtle shake of his head, "I had acquaintances. Other children of the parish that were my age. But I never really went out and played," he told me.

"That's…that sounds sad," I said, squeezing his hand back. He smiled slightly at me but turned his head quickly.

"More?" he asked, quite monotoned. I felt a hint of underlying annoyance. Or was it anger? I swallowed the venom that nervously pooled in my mouth.

"You don't have to talk about it if it's hard," I assured him, squeezing his fingers tight enough to make him look at me. He eyes had that sadness in them, but his expression was one of slight distain.

"It's always going to be hard to talk about it, Esme," he said, looking down at our hands together, "But I feel bad withholding anything you are curious about. You told me so much about you when I asked," he finished, trailing his eyes up to meet mine, and then immediately looked away again. I sighed.

"We grew up in different times, love," I said to him, trying to emote empathy for him. We had slowed our walking speed from purposeful to leisurely, "We had different responsibilities, different family dynamics," I tried to explain to him. He shook his head.

"So incredibly different," he mumbled. There was silence again between us, before Carlisle let go of my hand, sitting down on a bench we had been walking by, and let out a heavy exhale, leaning forward, and hanging his head. I stood for a moment before I sat down next to him, resting one arm around his back, and the other on his knee.

"Carlisle?" I asked him softly. He rubbed his eyes, and then ran his hands through his hair.

"Just need to gather my thoughts," he whispered, his voice shaking. I slipped both arms around him, resting my head on the back of his shoulder.

"It's ok," I whispered back to him, rubbing little circles on his back.

"No, it's not," he sighed, leaning back and resting against the back of the bench, "Everyone in the family can talk about their past, without having a breakdown. I can't even think about my human life without wanting to crumble," he admitted, closing his eyes again. I rubbed his arm gently, giving him a few minutes.

"Love, we all had to take our time to heal," I said to him, "And all of us in different ways," I tried to assure him, "Edward was vocal about it. I suffered in silence. Rosalie lashed out. We all took time. Edward still hasn't come around. I took a few months to open up. Rosalie moved on when she met Emmett,"

"They still got over it," he protested. I took his hands in mine.

"You'll heal in time, my love. Don't let it bear more weight on you," I told him. He looked down at our hands, and touched my wedding ring gently.

"How much time?" he asked, his voice sounding like a plea, as if it would crack. I leaned in and kissed he cheek softly.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." I said as I cupped his cheek where I had just kissed. He turned his head, his eyes full of sorrow, but behind them, surprise.

"John 14:27," he said softly. I nodded. Carlisle had quoted so many bible verses to me during the time it took me to heal of my pain. All I had remembered, but some became more prominent in my mind.

"I understand the pain, may it not be your pain, but I understand how it feels when you believe the pain won't ever go away," I told him softly, making him look me in the eyes again. I could have sworn his lips quivered slightly, before he placed his head against my shoulder, with a defeated sigh.

"I love you," he mumbled sadly into my flesh. I wrapped my hands around his head, cradling him to me.

"I love you more," I whispered back. He kissed my collar bone once and lifted his head. He looked weary, but force a weak smile,

"I contest that," he said softly, and rested his head back to my shoulder for a few more minutes before I heard him speak again. "Shall we keep going?" he asked, pulling away from me. I smiled kindly and stood, taking his hands in mine, pulling him to his feet. I hugged him from the side, and we continued our journey in silence.

As we crossed the park, the side of Buckingham came into view.

"It's beautiful," I whispered in amazement.

"It's quite a marvel," he replied, as we walked along the gate, the palace of beauty fortified behind the bars. We stopped in front of the gate, admiring the beautiful architecture.

"History me," I said to him, touching a bar gently, marvelling at the two huge, ornate crests that hung many feet above my head. I turned to look at my husband when he was silent at my request. He slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Well this is just the east wing of the palace, and was built in 1847-1850, and then remodelled in 1913 to essentially what you see now," he explained as I looked back at the palace through the gaps in the bars. He came to stand beside me, "The rest of the structure was built in 1703, although it was called Buckingham House back then," he added. I looked over at him with a smile, "I wouldn't call it a structure of my time, though," he said, "Tomorrow, after the church, I'll take you to St. Paul's Cathedral, which is about a half-hour walk down the Thames from the Abbey."

I smiled, slipping my arms around him in a light hug before turning back to admire the palace a touch longer. I heard the click of a camera, and quickly swung my head around to look at Carlisle, who had his phone pointed at me, and snapped another photo, and laughed lightly.

"Carlisle," I protested with the same laugh he had. He smiled, tucking his phone away,

"Your intrigue is quite adorable," he said, and took my hand in his, "Expect many more"

As we continued along our walk towards Westminster, Carlisle and I continued talking.

"To avoid personal matters, why not tell me historical facts?" I suggested, as we crossed the street and began casually walking down the sidewalk of a cute little street name Birdcage Walk, south of St. James Park. Carlisle glanced over at me.

"What kind?" he asked, furrowing a brow. I shrugged.

"Anything, I guess. Blow my mind," I challenged him. He chuckled.

"Ok… well here's a shocking one…waste, excrement, was done in pails and dumped onto the street…uh…urine was collected by someone called a "saltpetre man" and it was used to create gunpowder. Violin strings were made by slicing open sheep for their intestine," he began listing off things that sounds absolutely disgusting. I held up a hand to cut him off.

"Something less disgusting maybe?" I suggested. He laughed.

"Sorry darling, for a moment there it slipped my mind that you had running water growing up," he chuckled. I rolled my eyes,

"Yes it was the 1900's not the middle ages. We also had functioning tubs and sinks and toilets," I told him in quite a snappy way. Carlisle only laughed again.

"You're off by about two centuries, dear," he said with a tilt of his head. I hit his shoulder playfully with my hand.

"Whatever," I scoffed, and then we laughed together for a moment, "Speaking of the middle ages; stupid question I guess," I began when our giggles had dies down, "Was jousting still around at all when you were little?" I asked him, curious at what point the medieval point turned into the time her was a boy. Carlisle shook his head with a smile.

"Not really. By then it had died out. When the musket and musket balls had been invented, men wielding swords and shields had become a thing of the past," he explained and I nodded, "Medieval times died off after the 15th century. Then came the Tudor period, and then the Stuart period, in which I was born and raised," he said. I wasn't much of a history guru, much less a London history one.

"Oh," I said, turning my head.

"There's the Abbey," Carlisle said, as this architectural masterpiece of stone came into view from the distance.

"It's so huge," I gasped, in awe. Carlisle smiled as we got closer. The towering peaks only seemed to grow as we got nearer. Then my husband began his history tour.

"So Abbey is built in the shape of the cross essentially, and these are the West Towers, which is at the bottom of the cross," he began, gesturing to the grand towers that stood high above us, and the arched doorway. From where we stood, I could barely see the two flags at the top, flickering in the wind.

"It's so beautiful," I told him, looking over. I had taken many courses in architecture. But many American courses did not touch very deeply into anything foreign. Carlisle smiled back at me.

"If the outside captivates you my dear, the inside is like nothing you've ever seen," he explained as he led me around the side.

"Where are we going?" I asked, looking back at the archway door, where I thought we would be entering the Abbey.

"We're not supposed to go through that door. There's a side door for common folk," he said as we rounded the side, and surely enough there was a smaller normal door that we entered through.

The sheer impact the sight had on me would have taken my breath away as a human. I gasped, squeezing my husband's arms from the amazement.

"Oh, Carlisle," I gasped, looking at him. He beamed. I was standing frozen beside him, taking in the magnificent stone work of the area before us.

"Come," he said, pulling me to the left, where we now stood on the other side of the west doors, "Westminster was founded in 960 A.D. and since 1066, all coronations of the monarchs have been held here. The construction of this building though, began in 1245," he explained to me. I was listening, but distant mindedly. My attention was drawn to so many things. The size, the masonry, the textile over the floor we walked upon.

"It's so old," I whispered, "But looks so new,"

Carlisle chuckled softly, "Well it had had extensive restorative work done over the centuries," he said, "In fact the abbey wasn't actually finally completed until 1745. The West Towers were the last to be built," he added. My mouth was agape slightly.

"It's took 500 years to complete this?" I asked, shocked. Carlisle nodded slightly.

"It was done in stages, but you could think of it that way too," he agreed, as we began walking slowly away from the door, "So this part is referred to as "The Nave"," he said. I noticed the plaque on the ground, encircled by a frame of red flowers, as we approached it. I stopped at the foot of it and read the inscription.

_BENEATH THIS STONE RESTS THE BODY  
OF A BRITISH WARRIOR  
UNKNOWN BY NAME OR RANK  
BROUGHT FROM FRANCE TO LIE AMONG  
THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS OF THE LAND  
AND BURIED HERE ON ARMISTICE DAY  
11 NOV: 1920, IN THE PRESENCE OF  
HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE V  
HIS MINISTERS OF STATE  
THE CHIEFS OF HIS FORCES  
AND A VAST CONCOURSE OF THE NATION  
THUS ARE COMMEMORATED THE MANY  
MULTITUDES WHO DURING THE GREAT  
WAR OF 1914-1918 GAVE THE MOST THAT  
MAN CAN GIVE LIFE ITSELF  
FOR GOD  
FOR KING AND COUNTRY  
FOR LOVED ONES HOME AND EMPIRE  
FOR THE SACRED CAUSE OF JUSTICE AND  
THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD  
THEY BURIED HIM AMONG THE KINGS BECAUSE HE  
HAD DONE GOOD TOWARD GOD AND TOWARD  
HIS HOUSE_

I turned to my husband, with a sad look on my face.

"That poor boy," I whispered, barely audible, and he nodded in agreement.

"Sad yes, but a hero in the eyes of all. Even the royals pay respects to him," he told me, "There's a tradition since his burial, that during royal weddings, when the bride walks by on her way to the altar, she lays her bouquet on the grave to honor him,"

"That's a very sweet notion," I replied. He nodded solemnly, as we continued our walk along the nave, I a question plagued my mind.

"Carlisle? How many people are buried here?" I asked him.

"While the burial number is not specifically known to the public, including the buried and the commemorated, there are 3300," he said, and my eyes went wide for a moment.

"Wow," I breathed.

"Turn and look darling," Carlisle said, turning to face west and pointing up. High above us, almost impossible for a human to make out, was gorgeous stain glass windows.

"Oh my goodness," I said, shocked, as I examined the many people each panel depicted for several minutes. Carlisle smiled and we kept walking until we walked around what seemed to be a table, passed through a sort of arched tunnel into another section. Each side was lined with seats of wood. The floor a beautiful checkered pattern of black and white.

"So what we just passed was called the nave alter, and the arch we went under is the choir screen," my husband explained to me, "This part in front of us is the choir," he said, "and during a service, you'll find these pews filled with the singers, dressed in their gowns," he explained as we walked down the isle slowly, taking in all the beauty. "At the front, here, if you look to the side, is the north transept, which is technically the main entrance, and the south transept," he added, "Afterwards we'll go out the north door and you can see the actual front of the Abbey,"

I glanced each way. The south transept had another breathtaking set of stain glass panels high above the ground. And the north, its own as well. I nodded with a soft smiled, adjusting my grip on his arm slightly as he pointed out more things.

"Over there," he pointed toward something at the south transept, "Is Poets Corner. A memorial place for many," and then pointed up to the ceiling, where the center point of this crucifix shaped building met. A square section of the ceiling was decorated with a very detailed pattern, I noticed, much like the floor that I saw ahead of us.

"There's so much detail put into everything," I said to him, looking back over to meet his eyes.

"You'll like this part next," he told me, as we walked forward further. We stopped at an invisible barrier, a line where the floor turned into a very intricately designed tile work of many colours. I noticed how worn it was.

I had to look at my husband for an answer.

"Where we stand is called the sanctuary. This is where coronations and royal wedding take place. The monarch and the royal friends and family, along with people of political importance would sit to either side." He explained, pointing as he spoke, "And what you see in front of us is the Cosmati Pavement, and the High Altar," he finished. I peered at the floor, curious of its detail. Carlisle took my hand, and led me over the masterpiece of a pavement, to the very center, where together we stood on a circle made of what appeared to be marble.

"Are we allowed to stand on this?" I asked, worried we were going to damage this beauty. Carlisle smiled.

"It's perfectly ok love. I won't break any rules," he assured me, and then let go of my hand and moved away from me slowly, "It's quite a marvel, I agree," he began, "But what if I told you there was a riddle hidden within it?" he questioned me. I furrowed my brow, looking down and examining every inch of the piece around me.

"There's… letters?" I asked, noticing that within the smallest square in the center, the circle I stood on, as well as the four small circles to each side of it, were framed with a string of letters. The second, larger square was as well. The metal cast objects had been set into stone. Though I noticed many pieces were missing.

"Yes," Carlisle smiled, coming back to my side, "It's a Latin inscription," he said. I crouched down, touching a single letter near my foot.

"Do you know what it says?" I asked him, admiring the other geometrical shapes that made up this grand piece. Carlisle chuckled to himself.

"The 4 lines of the outer square in Latin reads "_XPI MILLENO BIS CENTENO DUODENO CUM SEXAGENO SUBDUCTIS QUATUOR ANNO TERTIUS HENRICUS REX URBS ODORICUS ET ABBAS HOS COMPEGERE PORPHYREOS LAPIDES","_

He read to me as he pointed along the square to help me follow,

"The next 4 lines around these circles reads "_SI LECTOR POSITA PRUDENTER CUNCTA REVOLVAT HIC FINEM PRIMI MOBILIS INVENIET SEPES TRIMA CANES ET EQUOS HOMINESQUE SUBADDAS CERVOS ET CORVOS AQUILAS IMMANIA CETE MUNDUM QUODQUE SEQUENS PREEUNTIS TRIPLICAT ANNOS". _And the inscription around the circle you stand on says "_SPERICUS ARCHETIPUM GLOBUS HIC MONSTRAT MACROCOSMUM"_,"

He smiled at me when he had finished reading. I could hear the words in my head thanks to perfect memory. I caught a few that sounded familiar.

"I heard something about Henry III, the globe, and tripling? And _annos _means 'year', right?" I asked, unsure if I had heard him wrong perhaps. He nodded.

"So you did read some of my old books, huh?" he smirked at me. I rolled my eyes slightly, making him chuckle, "Yes, you're correct," he told me, "Translated into a clearer English, it means "_In the year of Christ one thousand two hundred and twelve plus sixty minus four, the third King Henry, the city, Odoricus and the abbot put these porphyry stones together. If the reader wisely considers all that is laid down, he will find here the end of the primum mobile; a hedge three years, add dogs and horses and men, stags and ravens, eagles, enormous whales, the world: each one following triples the years of the one before. The spherical globe here shows the archetypal macrocosm"_," Carlisle recited to me in words I could understand more clearly.

"The end of the world?" I asked, shocked, "It's an end of the world prediction?"

Carlisle nodded, "It's quite well thought out as well," he said, "Let me explain," and then came and stood beside me, "There are two ways of getting to an answer, both lead you to the same number. The riddle gives you a list of beings, in which you multiply their lifespans together. A hedge stands for 3 years, three times that for a dog, 9 years. Three times that for a horse, 27 years. Three times for a man, 81 years. And so on and so forth," he told me.

I stood up from my crouch of examining the floor tiles and looked at him as he talked to me.

"Of course, it's all an estimate and the enormous whale part had been lost in translation to be confused with sea monsters, but that's besides the fact," he said, "If you do the math, the answer comes out to 19,683,"

"The end of the world?" I confirmed and he nodded.

"There's another way of getting to that answer as well. If you look at the piece as a whole, there are three sections: the circle, the quincunx, the square. There's nine lines in total. Three to the power of nine, 19,683," he said, and my jaw fell open.

"That's incredibly well thought out," I said, and he smiled, raising a brow.

"It gets better. There are 364 characters in the entire riddle. The number of days in a leap year. And the last line only has 6 words in it. The number of days the world was created in," he said.

It was something to be enchanted by.

"Amazing," I said, and turned my attention to the huge gold shrine behind us. I curiously walked towards it, and as I reached a foot to climb the two small steps, a hand firmly grabbed my upper arm. I turned and saw Carlisle with a slightly panicked face.

"Sorry my love. We're not allowed on the altar," he said to me and I retracted my foot back to its place.

"Oh," I whispered, unaware. He rubbed my back gently.

"It's just the rules of the church," he assured me, and I nodded, allowing him to continue, "Behind the altar is the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor," he added ,"I'm not sure if we're allowed into he shrine today, but as we go around the side into the ambulatory, you'll be able to see through the side gate," he said, and took my hand, leading me along our tour….


	4. Here Lies Mother

**Esme's POV**

That night, after our tour of the Abbey and our sight seeing to Big Ben, we rented a car and headed far out of the city to hunt.

We had spent most of the night hours, away from the city, returning to our hotel around three in the morning.

Currently I was in my night gown, cuddled up to my husband, reading a book, while he had his attention on the tv.

"What are you reading, love?" Carlisle's voice pulled me from my reading. I looked over at him, lowering my novel.

"A romance," I said with a soft smile, reaching for my bookmark, marking my page and setting my book on the night stand.

"Such a romantic," he sighed, planting a kiss on my temple. I smiled, slipping my arms around him and snuggling into his embrace, inhaling his scent. His embrace on my tightened slightly, and I exhaled deeply, relaxing.

"What time is?" I asked, closing my eyes. I felt his fingers running though my hair, as he shifted to reach for his phone and check the time.

"Eight-thirty AM," he said, and settled back into his spot.

"What time is church?" I asked, nestling my face closer to his body.

"Mass, darling," he corrected me, and I smiled slightly, "It's at nine, but we'll head over around ten," he told me softly. I nodded.

"Are you…prepared?" I hesitated, unsure how to word it. Carlisle glanced down at me.

"I don't know," he said quietly, his body tensing. I rubbed circles on his chest with the hand that rested there, "For centuries I've pushed the thought of ever going back there far from my mind, and now I feel like I've forced myself to face three centuries of ignored grievance in one day," he told me.

"You don't have to face your entire past in one visit. We're here for a few more days. We can always come back to London again," I replied to him, sitting up. He sighed.

"I feel like it would only make it harder, living it repeatedly. I'd rather go once, take in what I have to, and not go back again," he said, sliding off the bed. My gaze followed his path as he wandered over to his bag, pulling out his dress clothes, and heading into the bathroom.

I sighed, feeling defeated, unable to ease his mind. I swung my legs gently over the side of the bed, and stood myself, heading to my bag to sift through it in search of my skirt and blouse. Finding my black pencil skirt and setting it to the side, I dug deeper until I found the three-quarter length sleeve, wine coloured blouse, and added it to the pile.

I heard Carlisle exit the bathroom, as I gathered my clothing, brushing past him, briefly meeting his eyes for a moment, before closing the door.

I set my clothes on the counter, digging through my bag for my hair brush, and combing my slightly tangled hair out. Then rinsed my face and began dressing. I had figured if we were going to church, then "church clothes" would be the best choice of attire, even if we weren't attending Mass. I slipped my blouse and skirt on, tugging the blouse into the waist of the skirt before zipping it up. I smoothed out the creases before reaching for my makeup. I applied only a simple look, keeping it natural looking.

Digging through my travel jewelry box, a picked up my bracelet, slipping it on my wrist.

The small gold crucifix necklace that was laid out carefully among my other jewelry, caught my attention.

It was Carlisle's.

He used to wear it. I remember in the early years, he used to wear it every day. It was often hidden under his shirt, but I remember the first time I had seen it and had questioned him about it.

Carlisle and I had been courting for a few months, and we had just recently begun to share a room. I was sitting on our bed reading another Jane Austen book, when Carlisle walked into our room. He had gone out hunting before his shift and had come home to change. I had asked him something as he unbuttoned his shirt and he had turned around, revealing his necklace and I felt compelled to ask him about it.

And then I had noticed he would wear it less and less over the decades, until I began asking him about going back to London. That's when the cross disappeared, and I found it in the jewelry box we shared. I decided not to ask him about it, for the better.

I picked up the gold chain gently, placing it on my hand and wrapping my fingers around it carefully. I zipped up my makeup and jewelry cases, adjusting my hair with my empty hand, before exiting the bathroom. As I rounded the corner, Carlisle was sitting on the end of the bed, head down as he had one foot over his lap, tying his shoelace. He looked as he heard me enter.

"You looked beautiful," he said simply, with a half smile, before turning back to his shoe, adjusting the tongue and putting his back on the floor. I watched as he let out a heavy exhale, leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and hanging his head.

I could tell he was fighting with himself, and decided he needed the comfort. I opened my left hand, looking down at the delicate necklace and took it in my fingers, opening the tiny clasp.

I approached my husband, coming to a stop in front of him. He didn't move or look up. I gently placed the chain around his neck and clipped it together. He lifted his head, sitting up straighter, and his hand came up to touch the crucifix. I sat beside him and touched his arm.

"My necklace," he whispered, twisting it slightly between his index and middle finger. I smiled softly and kissed his cheek, my palm resting on the other.

"We should head there soon," I told him, glancing at the clock. It was 9:30. Carlisle stood, pulling me to my feet and embracing me in a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered against my neck. I smiled to myself as he let go of me, taking my hand as we made our way down to the street.

Carlisle hailed us a taxi, and we climbed in. I held onto his arm, stroking his hand soothingly, feeling the tension in him. We were silent the entire half-hour drive through the streets to an area known as St. Luke's.

Carlisle paid the nice man who drove us, and we climbed out I looked around, not seeing a church. I furrowed my brow, as Carlisle took my hand.

"Around the block," he said, as we began walking, and surely as we rounded the corner, a parking lot full of cars came into view, and the front of the church stood proud. It was a beautiful piece of work with its huge stain glass rose window, about the grand door. The sign that was planted on the grass out front read _" 's Historic Anglican Church_". I could hear singing of the congregation from within. I didn't notice Carlisle freeze until his hand had fallen from mine. I glanced back and he was staring at the face of the church.

"Carlisle?" I asked, stepping back towards him and taking his hand again. He snapped out of his daze and looked in my eyes before we continued walking toward the building.

"It looks the same," he said with a soft and nervous exhale as we the new, modern pavement met the old, worn cobblestone. I turned my head to him.

"It does?" I asked, and looked back, admiring the outside. When he had first told me about growing up in a church, I had oddly imagined a small church, perhaps something I had known from my time. Why I had pictured that, and not the grand stone building before my eyes, I wasn't sure.

"Relatively," Carlisle's voice broke through my admiration, "It looks as if they rebuilt the belt tower, and maybe patched up bricks that had crumbled. But it looks very similar," he said. I glanced down at the cobblestone, as we walked along the path.

"Come," Carlisle said, leading me to the side of the building.

Around the side of the church was a stone fence, with a wrought iron gate that was rusting heavily. He stopped just a foot from the gate, his hand hesitating an inch from grasping it. His hand that I held was unknowingly squeezing mine tighter and tighter. My fingers were in growing agony.

"Carlisle," I whispered, again snapping himself out of the daze. He then realized how tight he was holding my hands and immediately softened his grip, "You can do this," I said softly to him, encouraging. Carlisle took a deep breath to calm himself, and nodded, pushing the gate open and stepping through, myself behind him.

The hinges creaked in protest, crying from the years of withering. As I stepped over the line, I took in the sight before me. A very gloomy garden. One of flowers that struggled to bloom in the shade. A small stone bench was crumbling. The cobblestone was covered in dirt. A tree stood tall in the center of the garden, soaking up ever ray of sun from these poor flowers.

I looked over at my husband, now understanding what he had been crying about. _The garden, the cobblestone, the roses. _It was still beautiful, if only in a dim and gloomy way.

My husband was silent as he took in the sight, as was I. Though for many different reasons. I turned my head, seeing the glaze of anguish that had washed over him. He swallowed hard and tore his eyes away to meet mine.

"Come with me," he said, his voice on the verge of cracking as he pulled me along the path that led through the garden. As we passed the rose bushes, I felt compelled to reach out and touch one. But feared they were so deprived that if I did, they might shrink into themselves and close. The atmosphere had an almost haunting feel to it. As if no one had touched it in centuries. I was unsure of what my husband was dragging me towards as we neared the other side of the small garden.

Then I saw it.

Tucked between two nearly dead bushes; only sparse green leaf buds at the tips of the branches; sat a small stone cross, that was crumbling. Likely made of cement. It was on an unnatural angle, decorated with dirt and the moss that grew on it, and half of one of the crosses arms had broken off. There was possibly something etched into the cement, but the surface was so long gone that it was impossible to even guess what it was.

"My mother…" his voice was barely audible even to my ears. I looked at him, but he didn't look back.

He kept his eyes fixed to the crumbling grave marker. Standing here I felt like I was intruding on something intimate. I watched as my husband crouched down onto one knee, hanging his head. I could feel his sorrow radiating off him. It was hurting me deeply to see him like this.

"I used to come out here every night before curfew and pray for her," Carlisle's voice finally broke and sobs threatened to break the surface again.

"What was her name?" I asked him softly, as I crouched down next to him , causing him look over at me.

"Catherine," he told me kindly, a sort of fondness in his voice. Despite never meeting, and not knowing his mother, he carried a deep love for her. I gave my husband a soft smile and turned back to the stone cross. I reached my hand out towards it, hesitating before touching it and closing my eyes.

"Thank you," I said quietly, and opened my eyes to gaze upon the cross, "For bringing into the world a man with a heart of gold. I feel unworthy to be in the presence of the woman who gave to me the man who saved me. I wish I could meet you know and boast to you the incredible person your son has become," I said, ending as I looked at my husband. He looked as if he would cry. He cupped my cheek with a hand and kissed my lips softly.

"I wish you could meet her too," he said when our lips parted from each other.

"I'm so sorry you never got to know her," I sighed, touching his hand. He looked behind us at the crumbling cement bench.

"The strange thing is that someone upkept this enough for it to even still be here," he mumbled, and I tilted my head in wonder. Carlisle noticed and continued, "This cross is made of cement. The original one was made of wood. But that decomposed before I was a young adult. My father had it replaced with one made of tabby, a sort of old fashion cement material. And that bench over there was not there when I was a child," he explained, looking around, "This was an apothecary rose bush when I was little. It's been replaced with an oak tree,"

It was then that we heard from inside the pastor tell the congregation the Mass was over and to have a blessed day. I wandered over to the iron gate, resting my hands on it as I watched adults and children exit through the door and down the concrete stairs on their way to their cars. The adults chatting happily. The young children running about as they giggled. An elderly couple clinging to one another as they both walked with their canes. I smiled, admiring the happy humans.

Carlisle wandered to my side, resting his hands on my shoulders. As the humans dispersed Carlisle piped up.

"Would you like to go inside?" he asked, his voice soft. I looked back at him with a soft smile and nodded. He seemed to be letting his nervousness go. I was here for him and that seemed to be comforting him. I pushed the gate open; it creaked just as loudly as before, holding it open for my husband to pass through before gentle closing it. Carlisle took my hand in his and we wandered back along the cobblestone until we reached the steps, climbing them as one or two more humans exited through the doors that were propped open.

The sun was just starting to peer through the clouds as Carlisle and I ducked inside, closing the doors behind us.

The interior of the church was clean, fresh, but still had a beautifully aged feeling to it. You could tell it was old at its core but had been upgraded to be a hospitable place for humans. Old style radiators were along the bare brick walls to heat the building when it got cold. The foyer had old hardwood flooring what was very worn in and was covered with a carpet that ran from the door all the way up to the front of the church. I looked to my left, seeing a stray coat hanging on the row of hooks. A grand, white, three tier stone fountain had a statue of Mary at the top, pouring the water from a jug. Carlisle led me to the fountain, noticing my intrigue.

"Holy water," he said sweetly, dipping his index and middle finger into the water of the middle tier, making me giggle mentally. Everything about vampire lore stated he should have burst into flames and I found watching his actions ironically funny. Carlisle lifted his two fingers to his face, touching his forehead, his chest, his left peck, and right peck. Then turned to me, the slight wet mark in the center of his forehead making my smile widen. Then he took his thumb and dipped it in again, raising it to my face, making a little cross on my forehead, my lips, and the center of my chest. I smiled, as he turned, taking my hand again and we walked into the church.

"It's beautiful," I said to my husband, who nodded.

"Can you give me a minute, darling?" he asked, and I nodded as he let go of my hand, and slid into a back pew, closing his eyes and folding his hands.

I decided to give him the privacy and wander up the center isle towards to front of the church. Near the front were two statues on either side of the alter. One that depicted Mary holding a baby Jesus in her arms, the child reaching a hand out to the congregation. The other of a grown Jesus with both hands open to the people, a halo above his head. I studied the one of Jesus and his mother, taking in every minute detail of the painted statue.

Suddenly the sounds of footsteps and a heartbeat neared, and I turned, seeing a man approaching me from a side door. He had a soft grin on his face, and a light in his eyes. An older gentle man, maybe in his 50's or 60's, heavier set, he had grey hair, and a cheerful demeanor. He was dressed in his black dress pants and clergy shirt. The brown wooden crucifix hung around his neck.

"Beautiful isn't it," he said as he came to a stop beside me, gazing at the statue as well. I smiled, following his gaze back to the statue.

"Quite enchanting," I replied with a friendly smile. The man turned to me and extended his hand towards me.

"Pastor Harold Miller," he said as I took his hand and shook it, hoping he wouldn't notice the chill my hand would bring to his fingertips, "I'm the pastor here at St. Anne's," he added with a kind smile.

"Esme," I replied, as he let go of my hand. I hesitated to say "Cullen" in fear that there was a possibility of the impossible.

"Such a beautifully old-fashioned name," he stated sweetly, "It's not often I see new faces around here," he added, smiling at me.

"My husband and I decided to do some sight seeing on our vacation, and he wanted to stop in for a few prayers. I hope that's ok," I semi-lied to him. I didn't even bat an eye at the lie. I mean it was partly true.

"Oh of course, dear," Pastor Miller said with a smile, "You stay as long as you two like," he added.

"Thank you," I replied to him.

I heard the familiar footsteps of my husband approaching us before glancing over my shoulder and smiling at him. He reached a hand towards the pastor.

"Hello, Pastor," my husband greeted the man with a hand shake, "I apologize for not greeting you immediately. I was just saying a prayer," he explained. The pastor waved a hand in a dismissive way.

"Oh, don't you worry, son. There's always time for prayer," Pastor Miller said, almost eyeing my husband curiously. My husband let go of the man's hand and smiled.

"I'm Carlisle. It's nice to meet you," my husband said, and the pastor attempted to hide his surprise, but I could hear his heartbeat quicken as he quietly inhaled a sharp breath.

"Cullen," was the word that escaped his lips. I faltered, attempting to hide the shock. I glanced at my husband, who was not.

"Excuse me?" he asked, pretending he didn't hear the man correctly. The pastor tilted his head ever so slightly, and I heard his heartbeat calm down to a normal pace.

"Carlisle Cullen," the man said, with a feel of certainty in his tone, looking directly at my husband. I could see the worry behind my husband's eyes. There was a silence between the three of us for a moment before the man seemed to have an idea light up in his eyes, "Follow me, if you will?" he offered, and turned to walk away.

I glance at my husband and gave him eyes that asked him if we should bolt, but he shook his head slightly, taking my hand and the two of us followed Pastor Miller through the side door he had entered through earlier.

Through the door was a stone spiral staircase, and to the other was a hallway. The pastor led us down the hallway. Lining the walls were many old paintings. I only had a moment as we passed each painting to glance at them. Suddenly we stopped, and Pastor Miller pointed to a painting that was framed in this beautiful antique wooden frame.

"Here," he said, and I stepped closer, seeing that he was pointing at a very faded and poorly persevered painting. I examined the subjects of the painting. A middle aged, gruff looking man, with a stoic looking face, stood with a young boy, who looked to be about 15 or 16. Even with the faded painted and the many scratches the painting had, I could see the clear image that had been captured of a younger version of my husband. Engraved on a little plaque at the bottom of the frame was the inscription "_Pastor Cullen & son Carlisle_" on the fist line and below that "_1655" _along with the painter's name.

"Well he…certainly looks like me," my husband stuttered, and I couldn't tell if he was faking it or not for the confused façade, "My ancestors are from England. Perhaps it's an old distant relative," he said, attempting to play off the man's suspicion.

Pastor Miller shook his head, will a soft smile, and touched my husband's arm.

"I know what you are, son…" the pastor said softly, his fingers gently touching the wooden cross around his neck, "I've read about what happened... A tragedy for someone so young," he added, looking from Carlisle to me, and then back to Carlisle.


	5. Pieces of the Past

**Esme's POV**

"You're Carlisle Cullen…vampire," Pastor Miller said, lowering his voice slightly at the word "vampire".

My husband heisted for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.

"How do you…?" he began, but the pastor held up a hand softly.

"This is a historical building, son," the pastor began calmly, and waved for us to follow him through the rest of the hallway, and into an opened area. It looked to be a dining hall, possibly built a few decades ago for parish luncheons.

There were many tables and chairs set up, a small kitchenette to the side. I watched as the pastor opened a closet and pulled a book from the shelf of many ancient looking texts.

"There are documents and journals protected here from before this church was built," the pastor explained as he paged gently though the yellowed pages of a small leather-bound journal, "When I was transferred here in '99, I began reading into the history of the building and there was an entry made in this journal by the man who took over the parish around a decade or so after your father passed. He spoke of you coming back to the church," he read as he found the journal and handed it to Carlisle. My husband read over the scrawled passage I could not read. "I've read very document of this church, and I have to say, I never believed I would see you with my own eyes," the pastor explained.

My husband looked up from the book, and his eyes met the pastor's. I was too in shock to move from my husband's side where I was holding onto his upper arm with both hands. The pastor's face remained calm and collected, as well as his heartbeat. I knew my husband was not going to engage with the man first, so I stepped in.

"You… you aren't afraid of us?" I asked him, leaning in slightly. The man's eyes met mine, and he gave me a kind smile.

"You're one as well?" he asked, more rhetorically than directed, "No my dear, I'm not afraid of you," he said, folding his hands carefully, "I am a man of God, who believes in our great saviour," he said in a very proud, aethereal way. And then smiled at me, "And I figured, if you were here to kill me, you wouldn't have stopped to say a prayer," he finished, looking at my husband, and I swear I saw the man wink.

I couldn't help but let out a soft, nervous laugh as I clung to my husband's arm. Carlisle seemed to regain his sanity, and ability to speak coherently again and his eyes met the mans.

"You must keep this a secret," he warned the pastor, lowering his head and voice into a slightly threatening and serious tone. The man gave an assuring nod to both of us.

"Of course. I know your life is one of an undefinable secrecy," Pastor Miller told us.

"Thank you," my husband told the man, and I nodded,

"Yes, thank you, so much," I added. The pastor smiled, nodded once, and gestured to the empty seats.

"If you have the time, would you please sit?" he offered, "I would love to hear about your life," he asked kindly. Carlisle hesitated, offering the man a gentle smile, and I notice his tension flowing away. He seemed to be warming up to the old man.

"Only if you tell me what you know as well," Carlisle propositioned with him. Pastor Miller chuckled as Carlisle handed the journal back to him and agreed. My husband pulled a seat out for me, allowing me to sit first.

We sat at one of the folding tables, across from the pastor and he smiled.

"You must have had quite the childhood," the pastor said, leaning against the table. I sat close to my husband, squeezing his hand gently, encouragingly.

"I remember parts of it. Mostly moment. Names of insignificant people in my life are mostly gone from my memory. My mothers name was Catherine. She died giving birth to me. That all I knew. Fathers name was Nicholas. I don't know when my mother died, and subsequently when I was born. My father never told me, and my birthday wasn't celebrated.," my husband began telling the man.

Pastor Miller got up from his seat, wandering back over to the closet, selecting several more books from the shelf, and returning to us. He sat back down, selecting the top book and opening it, flipping through the thin, brittle pages. Both Carlisle and I leaned in, as the pastor turned the book towards us.

"Your mother, Catherine Barlow, married your father in May of 1639… She was 21 years old. Your father was 22," he pointed to the penned recording of the marriage. Carlisle had such a reflective look in his eyes, as if this tiny amount of information was the world to him. and I believed it was.

"Barlow," he whispered his mother's maiden name. Pastor Miller turned the book back to himself, closing it, and moving it to the side, selecting the next top book, and flipped through it like last time, turning it to us when he found the page he was looking for.

"According to these records, you were born in the spring. April 8th, 1640 at dawn," he said, his finger resting just above the entry, "The records don't state the hour your mother passed, but it is noted that she lived long enough to name you," he added. I smiled, looking over at my husband.

"You have a birthday," I whispered to him, trying to contain my elatedness. Carlisle glanced at me, his glassy eyes baring into mine, and the corner of his mouth turned into the slightest smile, his hand squeezing mine. Then he turned back to the pastor.

"The cross out in the garden," Carlisle began, "My mother is buried there," he told the elderly man, who nodded.

"The garden was maintained for many centuries. But about 90 years ago, someone planted the empty center with an oak tree and those poor rose bushes have been suffering," he sighed sadly.

"Cut it down?" I suggested, my inner gardener coming to the surface.

"Recognized Historic building my dear. To tamper with the site is quite the process to get approved," Pastor Miller told me softly.

"Oh," I sighed, "Such a shame,"

He turned back to my husband.

"What happened to you, son, on that night?" he asked, I felt Carlisle's tension return beneath my fingers for a brief second, but he relaxed himself.

"I was leading a hunting party through the streets. I had broken off from the group, and tripped, causing an open wound on my hand, and a vampire attacked me," Carlisle told the man, who became fascinated, "I hid myself away while I changed, and under the cover of night, fled from the city, before I could kill anyone,"

"Your father wrote of your death in the parish letter the following Sunday,"

Carlisle tilted his head, almost in disbelief.

"Do you know what happened to him?" my husband asked, "When or how he died?"

Miller nodded, sadly.

"I'm sorry son, but he succumbed to the plague," he said, solemnly, with sadness and sympathy in his voice.

"I had always suspected," Carlisle sighed, "Early or late in the epidemic?"

"Late, unfortunately,"

I wasn't sure about what that meant and decided to ask.

"Sorry to interrupt," I apologized, touch my husband's upper arm again, and continued," But, what does that mean?" I asked, looking between my husband and Harold. Carlisle touch the top of my hand gently.

"When the plague first took over, people were given proper burials," my husband began, and when he sighed, the pastor took over,

"As it progressed, and exponentially infected, grave diggers couldn't keep up. Bodies were placed in mass graves and covered over," he explained softly to me. I looked at my husband, whose head was lowered, and the expression on his face I couldn't read.

"He never got a proper grave?" I asked, causing both Miller and my husband to nod. The pastor attempted to lighten the mood slightly by changing the subject.

"I assume you noticed the staircase before we turned down the hall?" Pastor Miller asked, looking at the two of us. We both nodded as he stood, asking us to follow him. Carlisle stood from his seat, offering his hand to me in a chivalrous manner. I smiled, taking it and followed the old man back down the hall to where to stone stairs were. I notice then that it had been barred off with a steel door. The pastor pulled keys from his pocket, unlocking the door, and motioning for us to follow. Carlisle let me go first, after the man.

I followed the winding stone stairs up to the next level of the church, stopping at the top, waiting for my husband to rejoin my side. Carlisle froze when he gazed upon the sight of the upper loft.

"It's mostly barred off from the public. People are only allowed up here for historical tours on special days," Pastor Miller explained, standing to the side.

The area was roped off, but I wander to the edge, the rope pressing against my knees.

"Oh my god," I heard my husband whisper as he came to stand beside me, I looked over at him, "This is home," he breathed, and stepped over the rope. I hesitated to follow him, glancing over at the pastor standing by the stairs. He gave me a gentle nod and I followed my husband, stepping over the rope gingerly. Before me was a gloomy loft. There was a low built wooden bed on either side of the room. The patchy fabric was dirty looking, and had straw sticking out of the open seams. Thin little blankets were on each bed. Directly across from me was the stain-glass rose window that we had seen from the outside. The sun outside caused a rainbow effect to decorate the room like a disco ball would have. The light danced off our skin and I panicked, my instinct was to step out of the light. But then remembered that Pastor Miller already knew, and I doubted anything else could frighten him. I carefully followed my husband and rested a hand on his back.

His hands were resting in his pockets and he was gazing at another painting that hung above one bed. A young woman with blonde hair, dressed in a blue dress and a white bonnet, sat at a spindle, her hand working the machine, as her eyes gazed down at a book on her lap. Her soft beauty had been captured so gracefully by the painter.

"Is that the painting of your mother?" I asked him, in my soft, mothering tone. He nodded slowly, not saying anything, "She is so beautiful, Carlisle," I told him. it was true. She looked like a goddess. It was obvious where Carlisle got his beauty from. He was all Catherine. My husband was in a trance, looking at the painting for so long, I leaned forward to look in his, in which a great amount of color had drained from them, from the sorrow he was internalizing.

I glanced back at Pastor Miller who gave me a sad but understand look.

"I'll give you two a moment," he said, "I'll be in the sacristy, cleaning up, when you need me," he added, before descending the stairs. It was only when he disappeared and his footsteps had faded, that Carlisle abruptly pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck, shaking slightly from holding back sobs.

"It's ok to cry, my love," I said softly next to his ear as his sobs broke through and he nearly collapsed his weight upon me. I gently sat us down on the edge of the wooden bed, the wood groaning in protest, but holding up.

"Why does it hurt so much?" he mumbled as he cried. I stroked his hair soothingly.

"Oh…my love," I said, wanting to cry myself, "I wish it didn't. I hate seeing you in anguish," I sighed, "But please darling, don't be sad," I hushed him. His hands were clutching me tightly.

"Esme," he whispered sadly, as he attempted to control his hysteria.

"Hush, my love. Relax," I soothed him until he finally calmed down enough to lift his head. He placed his forehead gently against mine. He was still quivering slightly. I pressed my lips gently to his, lingering for just a moment.

"Baby girl," he choked out, clutching the side of my neck and my upper arm. I held him gently. Carlisle had the tendency to hold me as if I would disappear from beneath his grasp when he was extremely upset. Which was a very rare thing. It gave me an insight to the intensity of his panic attacks he would have as a child.

"Carlisle calm down love," I whispered forcefully to him, "Relax," I said as I rubbed his back gently.

"I can't," He blubbered, "It hurts,"

I pulled back just enough so he could look in my eyes. I cupped his cheeks softly, but firm enough he would register my intensity.

"Look at me," I said to him, and hesitantly looked me in the eyes, his jaw tensed and lips quivering, "Calm yourself," I said softly, staring into his eyes for several long seconds before speaking again, "I'm here. Everything's ok,"

"I'm ok," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes and I pulled him close again, until he settled down enough to have cohesive thoughts.

"Are you ok now?" I asked after several long minutes of silently embracing him. His face was hidden in my hair, inhaling my scent. He finally nodded and lifted his head. We had been up here for ten minutes, undisturbed. To distract his mind, I glanced around the room, and picked out an object to ask him about, "That music box, is that yours?" I asked him, and he turned his head towards the object I was pointing at across the room. He smiled softly, standing from our spot and sauntering over to it, carefully picking it up. He smiled to himself, turning it in his hands.

"No actually," he said, "Music boxes weren't invented until the 19th century. I'm not sure who put this here," he stated, and wound it up gently, "Though I'm curious now of the song it will play," he said and opened the lid if the palm-sized box. The gentle tune of Amazing Grace filled the air, making us both smile.

"How much of this room is accurate?" I asked him, looking around again and taking in the gloomy looking room.

"The beds, and the painting," he sighed, setting the tiny music box back in its place, "There was a shelf over there with our food on it," he said, pointing to a bare wall, "And there was a small desk and chair over here," he added, walking over to an empty spot near the foot of one bed, "My father would write his sermons from it. And I did a small amount of school work,"

"You didn't go to school?" I asked him, tilting my head slightly. Carlisle smiled slightly to himself.

"I know you have quite the passion for teaching. But no, my love. My family wasn't that wealthy. I was taught to read and write by my father. A small bit of math. But I mostly studied the scriptures," he told me, walking over and taking my hand gently as I stood up. I lifted my other hand and cupped his cheek softly as he continued, "I didn't formally go to school until I began medical school,"

"And look at you now. The most intelligent man I've ever met in my life," I told him sweetly, and he turned his head, kissing my palm, "You've become so much more than what you were. You've overcome so much. And being here is just one more thing you're overcoming," I said, looking softly into his eyes. he gave me a gentle smile, kissing my palm once more before lowering it from his cheek.

"Let's go find Pastor Miller," he said, "I have a feeling he's very interested in us,"

"In you, darling," I corrected him with a chuckle, as we headed back down the stone staircase.

Pastor Miller was standing at the pulpit, marking pages in the gospel. He saw us enter the church again and smiled, closing his book.

"Thank you, pastor," Carlisle said kindly to him. I clutched Carlisle's arm gently.

"it's no trouble, son. If anyone deserves to go up there, it's surely you," Pastor Miller said.

"Do you happen to know what happened to most of the furniture that was up there?" Carlisle asked him, touching my hand on his arm.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot," the pastor exclaimed, a sudden jump to his voice, "The basement is a sort of store room slash vault of the more delicate item," he said, motioning for us to follow him again. We followed him back towards to staircase.

I hadn't noticed before, but behind the stairs was a heavy steel door, in which the pastor unlocked, and held it open until we followed him down the steps.

"Watch your step," he said, a common human courtesy, even though Carlisle and I could see the staircase fine. The smell that permeated the air was dusty, stale, with a slight mildew. The old wooden steps creaked under our feet as we descended them. As we descended lower though, it became harder, even for us to see. I heard Pastor Miller's footsteps halt, and suddenly the lights came on. My eyes almost had to adjust, before I looked around.

"Oh my god," I whispered, almost inaudible.

"Most of the items that have been saved over the centuries have been stored down here for protection," Pastor Miller said, gesturing to the small, unfinished basement that was packed full of items, "Feel free to look around," he said, and Carlisle took a step forward, his arm slipping away from my hands. He wandered about the sheet-draped furniture and items laying about. I stepped closer to the pastor who gave me a gentle smile.

"Thank so much for this," I said kindly to him, "I can't tell you how much this means to my husband,"

Pastor Miller touched my shoulder softly, again, not flinching at how cold I was.

"You're very welcome my dear," he smiled, folding his hands, "Please, look around, I'm sure you'll find many things intriguing," he added. I began wandering around, running my fingers over dusty tables and shelves of items.

I lifted a sheet finding an old desk that looked like it had seen better years.

"Love? Is this your desk?" I asked him, and he peered over another furniture item to look. He smiled but shook his head.

"No, sorry darling," he said, and continued looking around. I lowered the sheet and continued looking as well.

A shelf with an old gramophone. A spindle sat in the corner, cobwebs hanging off it. An old piano was half covered by a sheet. I couldn't help but lean towards it and press a single key, the sound filling the otherwise silent basement.

"Oh…my…god," I heard my husband breath out in disbelief, "No way!" he exclaimed, and I turned, seeing his excited face, but not what her was looking at. He looked back at me, "Esme, come here," he said, motioning a "come-hither" with his fingers. Curiously, I furrowed my brow, and walked around a couch, and l saw what he was looking at.

He was standing in front of a table, with a large box on top of it. He was brushing the layer of dust off it. It was a finished wood, with metal handed on either side, and a large pad lock on the front, holding it closed. I noticed the pastor was walking towards up and he nodded,

"Oh, that. I'm not sure what that is. It has an old lock on it, and I assume the key was lost a long time ago. no one had bother to cut the lock off. It was found under one of the beds up in the loft in…1690? I think?" Pastor Miller said, "It's like a pandora's box. Everyone who's come across it has wondered what's in it, but because it's from the 17th century, everyone is incredible scared to open it," he said with a chuckled.

Carlisle chuckled as well. I watched as he held the pad lock, with both hands, and pulled the loop away from the lock base. He broke the lock so effortlessly, and I heard the mechanism jingle around inside the casing. He set the broken lock to the side, almost laughing.

"Ok, this… is my vampire hunt kit," he chuckled, looking over at me as he gently opened the hinged lid. My mouth fell open.

"What?" I asked, and he could only chuckle.

"Well it was my fathers. He handed it down to me on my 20th birthday. I rarely used it but to have the thing, at the time, was…it felt kind of good," my husband said, looking inside the case, "And everything's still here,"

I leaned closer, looking at the case. It was compartmentalized, and held many things, some of which I could only guess what they were.

"Incredible," Pastor Miller said, stepping closer to get a better look. Carlisle smiled at him.

"Isn't it?" he asked, rhetorically, turning back to look at the case.

"How does it work?" I asked him, and he reached forward.

"On the inside of the lid you have a mallet, two crosses made of aspen wood, with the ends sharpened to a point, and a bible," he began as he unhooked one cross from its holding latch and handed it to me. I inspected the large cross. It was roughly the length of my forearm, made of wood, and the bottom of it was indeed carved to a point. I handed it back to my husband, and he put it back in its place, reaching next for the bible. He paged it ever so carefully between his fingers. The pages were so old, yellowed and frail they looked as if a light breeze was enough to turn them to dust. The ink had faded a great amount. But for a 350 plus year old book, I would consider it "in good shape". My husband put the book back as he looked at the main part of the case.

"What's with all the bottles?" I asked, noticing a row of 13 bottles along back wall of the case, and two more in another compartment.

"Herbs and spices mostly," he said, picking up each bottle. All were labelled, but only a few had things in them, that looked almost petrified, "Blackthorn, Buckthorn, Dogrose, Hawthorn, Holly, Incense, Juniper, Liden, Mandrake root, Mayflower, Roses, Rowan, Wolfsbane," he listed off from the smaller vials. Most of the herbs I had never even heard of, "Holy water, Garlic," he said, pointing to the two bigger bottles on their own.

"Isn't Wolfsbane poisonous?" I asked my husband, having learned of the plant from one of the many flora books I had in my possession. Carlisle nodded, reaching for a large knife.

"Thirteen-inch, coffin-handle steel dagger," he said, turning the blade in his hand before showing the two of us.

"Why?" I asked him, noticing the wear and tear on the handle, as well as the slight rusting on the blade. Carlisle shrugged slightly,

"Lighting fires," he began, picking up a large chunk of flint that was also in the kit. That made sense, flint and steel. "Also, for cutting branches if you needed to start a fire to burn a vampire. Decapitation was another use," he added, a little less enthusiastic. I grimaced as he replaced the knife back in its slot, and reached for a coiled-up rosary, untangling it from itself.

"That's a beautiful piece," I said as he hung it off one hand.

"Made of wood. If I recall, my father said it was my grandfathers," Carlisle said, allowing me to touch the end, where a small cross hung.

"It's a beautiful antique," I told him as he replaced it. I eyed a suspicious looking length of carved wood that lay in its own padded slot. "What's…that?" I asked, apprehensively pointing to it. Carlisle reached for it gently, lifting it with one hand.

"That, my dear, is a 16-inch, solid ash wood stake," my husband said, turning the wooden stake in his hands. My eyes went wide again.

"You mean…?" I began as he looked at me and nodded, then slowly turned the stake and gently touched the tip just above my left breast.

"In theory you would stake a vampire right through their heart with this to effectively kill them," he said, and lowered the dangerous object, sensing the slight fear that was running through me, despite know that the stake would do nothing more than leave a scratch, maybe, and my clothes covered in wood splinters. He put the stake back and touched the small of my back with his hand to comfort me, "Of course it would never work," he mumbled, eyeing up more things in the case.

"You mean this entire thing is completely useless?" Pastor Miller asked and we both looked at him. Did we dare cross that line and tell the man how vampires can be killed. I looked up at my husband, who kept a complete poker face on.

"Completely," he confirmed to the man, who looked surprised. Truthfully though, it wasn't entirely useless. The flint to make a fire was the only possible useful thing in that case.

Carlisle's hand still rested on my back as he reached for the small mirror that was tucked along the side, raising it to look at himself.

"Can you imagine if we didn't have reflections?" he asked, and I chuckled, leaning in to look at the two of us in the mirror.

"We'd always look terrible," I joked, fixing a stray piece of his hair. He smiled.

"That's what I have you for," he teased, with a smile, placing the mirror back. I looked at the contents again.

"Is that another stake?" I asked, pointing to the little four-inch piece of wood that looked the big one. Carlisle nodded, but didn't pick it up. "What about that thing?" I asked, pointing to a little leather pouch that was folded over and wrapped with a small string. Carlisle grabbed it and unwrapped it. Inside was just a handful of rusty nails that were incredibly long, "Nails?" I asked him and shrugged.

"Not technically. But yeah. They're just wrought iron stakes that are sharpened. You would use then to nail a vampire to a cross after staking their heart,"

"Crucifixion?" I asked, shocked. Carlisle pursed his lips slightly and nodded.

"It was a cruel thing. And by my times, illegal. To burn people at the stake was fine apparently, but to crucify anyone, even a supernatural creature or witch, could get you killed if you were caught," Carlisle said.

"Why didn't they just tie them to the cross instead and burn them?" I asked, honestly shocked by my suggestion.

Carlisle hesitated to answer but did.

"Hanging anyone from a cross in any way was considered crucifying. And secondly, because it was, and technically still is, a sin to burn religious symbols," he explained, "Kind of the way that no one uses bible pages as fire starters," he added, and I nodded as Carlisle tossed the rusty "nails" to the side. I noticed to little notches in one part of the case.

"Does that come out?" I asked, pointing to the little notches and Carlisle leaned closer, stick a finger in each notch and pulling, a tray of compartments lifting out of the base.

"Well look at that," he said, setting the tray beside the box. I leaned to look where he had removed the tray. Another compartment was beneath the tray.

"Look, Carlisle," I said, pointing to a tiny gap in the little ledge where the tray had been resting. I reached my hands into the box, wedging my fingernails into the gap and pulled.

A sliding tray popped out.

"Oh wow, a secret compartment. How did I not know about this?" he asked himself, looking at me. I gave him a simple smile.

"There's something inside," Pastor Miller said as Carlisle and I were glancing at one another. We both looked back at the compartment and Carlisle wiggled the little drawer all the way out.

Sure enough, there were several folded papers inside. Carlisle carefully reached down and lifted them, turning them over. Two of them were sealed with a wax seal, and had _Carlisle _scrawled beneath them.

"They're for me," he said, softly, but in shock.

"You should take them," Pastor Miller encouraged him. Carlisle's eyes fell to him, "You should take the whole box," he added. Carlisle swallowed nervously, looking between the pastor and I for a moment. I gave him an encouraging nod.

"Thank you, Pastor," Carlisle said softly to him. He handed the papers to me, asking me to tuck them safely in my purse. Then he closed the case and lifted it from the table.

"Shall we head back upstairs?" Pastor Miller said and we both grinned, allowing Carlisle to go up the stairs first. The pastor locked the basement door again and we headed back into the church. Carlisle set the kit down on a front pew, and sat down beside it, gazing up at the altar. I sat down beside him resting a hand on his knee. Pastor Miller went back up to the pulpit and continued his book marking from before.

"That big wooden cross we have at home," Carlisle began, lifting a hand and pointing to a spot above a chair behind the altar, where another, newer cross hung, "It used to hang right there,"

"How did you end up getting it back anyways?" I asked, realizing he had never told me how the cross came to be in his possession.

"That journal entry from before. I only came back once. Briefly. It was a strange interaction. The pastor recognized me, gave me the cross, wished me well," he said, in a dazed out, disbelieving voice, "And I never knew if he knew my secret, or if he didn't know about my quote unquote death," he explained, "After reading that journal entry I'm starting to believe that he knew,"

Pastor Millers Voice interrupted us as he sauntered over to the altar, paging through another book.

"I think we as mortals, have known about you for a long time," he said, making Carlisle and I look up at him. His eyes met ours, and I could tell Carlisle and I both had the same look of confusion. How was that possible.

"You live with the illusion that humans can't put two and two together if you act normal enough. You as your own…species, seem to underestimate humans' abilities to not noticing certain things, and overestimate their abilities in others," he said to us.

"What do you mean?" I asked him, squeezing my husband's hand.

"I studied a few books and was able to figure it out," he said to begin, "Your eyes, no mater the shade, can not pass for a normal brown. You are unnaturally cold in places you shouldn't ever be. Yes, it's easy to play off could hands," he added, "And you leave so many ends loose,"

I looked over at my husband, nervous again.

"Your friends in Italy?" he questioned, looking at Carlisle, "The modern age of social media, and instant messaging has seemed to have gone completely over their heads. They're so concern with eye witnesses and rumours by word of mouth, that they seem to fail how quickly a tweet or text, followed by a sudden disappearance can cause so much suspicion. Not to mention your unfaithful rule breakers. Immortals going back to their families. Your millenniums of secrecy are so out in the open, yet you fail to recognize it," Pastor Miller said, coming down to sit beside us, "People only keep as silent as they do, out of fear. It's common knowledge, your natural diet. Imagine the mass panic the confirmation of vampire existing among us would cause? You would attempt to kill off anyone who knew truth, thus depleting your food source, all while causing the wider spread of rumors as more humans disappeared," he explained to us. I could stop looking between him and my husband. There was silence between he three of us for a long time before he spoke again.

"Our existences together… it's a balancing act," he said, "It keeps the type of peace we have,"

My mouth was hanging slightly open, as was Carlisle's. I was the first to speak of us two.

"Thank you, pastor… for your words…You are so understanding," I said softly to him. Carlisle, almost coming out of his state of shock but he seemed to change the subject.

"Do you mind if I comb through those books again, pastor?" he asked, and Pastor Miller nodded.

"Please, feel free," he said, and Carlisle got up, looking back at me.

"Are you coming darling?" he asked, and I glanced at him, and then at Pastor Miller, then back at Carlisle.

"It's alright darling, go ahead," I said, and he gave me a soft smile and headed down the hallway toward the other room we had been in before.

"Is he handling this ok?" Pastor Miller asked me when Carlisle had disappeared. I sighed, looking at him.

"I'm not sure," I admitted honestly.


	6. Letters of Old

**Esme's POV**

"Pastor Miller, can I tell you something?" I asked when I knew my husband was out of earshot, if I talked in a lower voice.

Pastor Miller looked over at me, offering me a soft smile.

"Of course, my dear," he said, his face softening.

"When I was a child, and even a young woman, I would say I was in touch with my faith. But I was in an abusive relationship, that led down a very destructive path in my life. And I feel like I lost touch with my faith and religion. Although I never found it to change who I was as a person…" I began, and Pastor Miller gently took one of my hands in his.

"There is no need to worry about straying from your faith, my dear girl. For God is always there for you, and he will always guide you in your times of hardship," he told me kindly.

"It's not me I'm worried about…It's Carlisle," I told him, softening my voice, "When I first met him, he was so in touch with his faith. I've never seen a man so spiritually connected to God… I use spiritually for lack of a better word I guess," I said to him, Pastor Miller's face furrowed softly, "About 30 years ago, I began suggesting he come home to London, and face his home from his human life, and he slowly started changing…He stopped talking about hope and faith. Stopped praying to himself and quoting bible verses to me. It was something I loved so much," I whispered the last part, hanging my head slightly ,"That cross around his neck, he hasn't worn in years… I'm afraid he's drifting from his faith, and it's changing him," I confessed to the old man, who's eyes felt very understanding.

"My dear, you seem to feel unsure about yourself as well," he said to me, and I looked up. It was hard to admit, but he was right. I was so unsure about my own soul, and faith, "Where did your faith begin to faulter?" he then asked me. I bit my lip nervously. I didn't like to think about it, but I felt comfortable enough with Pastor Miller to explain.

"I used to pray to God every night before bed, to answer my prayers. I went to church every Sunday, I read my bible like a novel. I think it started failing when my ex-husband began abusing me, and I stopped going to church. I ran away when I got pregnant, and then blamed God when he took my child," I said, and swallowed the venom that nervously pooled in my mouth. Pastor Miller squeezed my hands gently and gave me kind eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, and I gave him the same look back. I had to try and stifle a small smile. I had heard that so many times.

"It's ok, it was a long time ago…" I said, and continued, "I though I would find my faith again when I found Carlisle, but with my children's attitude on religion, it never came back,"

"You have children?" he asked sweetly, and I nodded, thinking fondly of my kids.

"Seven adopted; six like my husband and I, one a…werewolf…and a half-breed granddaughter," I admitted, whispering everything after werewolf. Pastor Miller didn't seem to be taken aback.

"And your family? They don't follow in the faiths of you and your husband?" he asked me. I swallowed nervously again, tucking my hair behind my ears and looking down at my lap.

"Carlisle grew up Anglican. I grew up Protestant. My first adopted son, Edward, he grew up Catholic, but he believes that after we're changed, we lose our souls in exchange for immortality. He believes in Heaven and Hell, but he feels that after our immortal life, there is nothing. Carlisle believes in Heaven and Hell, and God. But he feels that because of what he is, and no matter how much good he does, he'll end up in Hell," I explained. Pastor Miller nodded,

"And the rest of your children?" he asked.

"My daughter's Rosalie and Alice, and my son Emmett, they also grew up Protestant. Rosalie takes our life as a sort of curse. She's always upset about not being able to move forward. I think she let go of faith a long time ago. Emmett, after he was turned, he did talk about believing the four of us to be God and his angels. It was quite flattering and adorable. Oh, he's such a sweet boy. He doesn't talk about religion, but I think inside he knows what he still believes in. And Alice, I'm not sure how she feels. I think she doesn't hope anymore. She lives in the moment and takes life one stride at a time," I said to him, "My son Jasper, he was a confederate solider, quite a wounded boy if I must be honest. He didn't know much of faith and hope, I think. And Bella, she grew up with divorced parents. I don't think she ever went to church,"

Pastor Miller was still holding my one hand with both of his.

"It seems as if you have been surrounded by a very negative energy since your ex-husband, and that is pulling you from your faith. You were pulled from faith by abuse, wondering how a God who loves you could bring this upon you, and now you are being influenced by your children's lack of faith," He told me, "I understand with you and your husband sharing different strains of Christianity, it may be difficult. But I can only encourage you to attend church together. You may find that you haven't strayed too far from your faith and trust in God, as you think. Perhaps you need to reconcile with him," he suggested. I was confused,

"With Carlisle?" I asked him and he shook his head.

"With God, my dear," he said softly. I gave him a smile. Then he offered to me another idea, "We have evening prayers tonight, if you and your husband would care to attend?" he offered. I hesitated.

"I would love to come, although I am unsure of how Carlisle would feel about. He has very mixed and complicated feeling about this place," I told him, "I don't know how he would fair through a mass,"

Pastor Miller nodded with understanding

"I can understand that entirely," he told me honestly. He was silent for a moment before he smiled at me, "You two seem very happy together," he said sweetly. I smiled back.

"Very. He changed me into what I am. He's a doctor, so I met him as young girl when he treated me as a patient. I didn't see him after that first encounter until I was on my death bed. After the four years with my ex-husband, and the death of my child, I attempted to kill myself," I told the gentle old man, who's eyes filled with sorrow. A look I had seen from every one of my family members before. "I was taken two a morgue, thinking I was dead, and he just happened to be working there. He remembered me, and saved me," I said, in a reminiscing voice, "In a way…_he_ was my saviour,"

Pastor Miller smiled.

"And you were mine, my love," a voice startled me, and I looked over as my husband, who was standing in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked him, realizing I had even noticed his scent enter the church again, I had been so wrapped up in my confession. Carlisle came over to me and slipped into the spot beside me, slipping his arms around me and pulling me close to him. I leaned back against him, closing my eyes and resting my head against his shoulder.

"Only a minute," he whispered in my ear.

"You were definitely the one who did the saving," I told him softly. Carlisle chuckled ever so gently.

"I object, my dear. For you saved me from an eternity of being alone," he said to me, making me kiss his lips gently. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"That's all it takes," Pastor Miller said softly to me and stood up from his seat. I smiled at him and then he extended a hand to Carlisle, "It was an honor to meet you, son," he said, giving my husband a firm handshake. Carlisle beamed at him,

"As it was you, Pastor," he replied, before letting go of his hand.

"I hope you two enjoy the rest of your stay in England," he said kindly with a nod, and was about to walk away, but Carlisle stopped him.

"Pastor?" he asked, "I hope you don't mind, but I had hoped to keep my mother journal," he pleaded, revealing from his pocket, a palm-sized leather-bound journal.

"Of course. It belongs to you," he said, with a nod, and he was gone with a smile before Carlisle could say thank you.

Carlisle's embrace around me tightened slightly.

"Thank you, my angel," he whispered to me. I looked up at him,

"For what?" I asked him, unsure, studying the lines on his face.

"For telling me I needed to come here. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you sooner," he apologized, but I pressed a finger to his lips to silence him softly.

"Don't apologize, Carlisle," I told him with a caring smile, "You needed to do this on your own volition," I told him. He captured my wrist softly and kissed my finger before lowering my hand.

"Without you pushing me, I never would have even considered it," he told me, nuzzling my neck with his nose.

"I'm just glad you finally did," I told him. He kissed me cheek with a light peck.

"Come on, lets head back," he said, and I nodded, standing up and tossing my purse over my shoulder, while Carlisle picked up the wooden box, carrying it carefully.

Back at the hotel, Carlisle set his box on the table in our room, while I kicked my shoes off, flopping down on the bed, leaning into one of the pillows.

"Should wipe that dusty thing," I said, flashing him a smile. He nodded, walking into the bathroom and I heard him wetting a cloth in the sink, and came back out, with a wet, bunched up washcloth and began cleaning the outside of the dirty box.

As he cleaned, I reached for my purse I had dropped at the end of the bed, opening it and pulled out the stack of papers he had given me for safe keeping earlier. I gently shuffled through them. The two folded ones were sealed. Another had been simply folded in half in attempt to keep it pristine. The last was a hand made envelope, created by folding the corners of a piece of paper inward. It was tied closed with a piece of rough string.

"I'm just as curious as you," I heard Carlisle say softly, looking up as he sat beside me. I sat up straight, sitting on the edge of the bed bedside him, handing the papers to him. He took them and turned the first wax sealed one in his hands.

"A letter?" I asked, and he semi-nodded.

"Tri-fold, wax seal. Most likely. And this looks like my fathers' hand," he said, and I touched his arm, holding it gently as he broke the seal away from the paper and unfolded it…

The old scrawl was faded, and messy, but still legible enough for one to read. Except me, I guess. I was looking at the letter, though I couldn't read the old the messy cursive, combined with many of the Shakespearean era words left me perplexed. I clung gently to Carlisle's arm, scanning his face for an emotion.

There was silence in the room for several long minutes until Carlisle lowered the paper to his lap and a sadness glazed over his eyes.

"Carlisle?" I asked, sliding a hand down to his wrist. He seemed to be frozen in some state of emotion, though I couldn't tell which. He took several long seconds before answering.

"He…he wrote this…after I went missing," Carlisle seemed to choke out. I rubbed his back gently with one hand.

"What does it say, darling?" I asked, curious, but softly, as not to rush him. He leaned into me.

"Can you understand any of it?" he asked me softly. I shook my head, and he slid up onto the bed, resting against the headboard, motioning for me to snuggle up under his arms. I smiled softly, and did so, my head nested against his shoulder, a hand on his chest, the other slipped behind his back, gripping his shirt gently. Carlisle took a slow and shaken breath.

"He wrote to me, after I had disappeared, saying he was sorry…" he began, but trailed off. I looked up at him before he spoke again, "And apologized for what he had done to me…and to others,"

He was silent again, and I had to coax him along,

"Is that it?" I asked, and he took a deep breath.

"He never mentioned my mother," he said, seemingly saddened by it. I rubbed his chest, until he kept going, "But he mentioned everything else,".

I looked down at the letter in his hand and scanned my eyes over it again. I recognized his moms name among the scribbles. After studying, I managed to pick out a few more words. "God", "mercy", Carlisle's name a few times, the word "sorry" once or twice. Near the bottom I made out a new name. _Carina. _I furrowed my brow, just slightly, hoping Carlisle didn't notice. I felt something but pushed it from my mind. _There's no reason to feel jealously, Esme, _my conscience told me. I swallowed nervously, deciding to not ask him. _It's his past. Stay out of it unless her tells you. _

Carlisle folded the letter up, and I looked up at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, and he shook his head.

"One apology letter doesn't make up for ruining my entire human life., " he said, throwing it on the comforter beside him, "For keeping information about my mother. For not letting me live a normal life. For not letting me have friends," he added, pulling me closer to him. I sighed softly to myself.

"Didn't you take your mother's journal?" I asked, remembering the little leather book. Carlisle slid off the bed, walking over to the wooden box, where he had set the journal on the lid, and then came back to me, with the book in his hand.

"I don't know where my father hid this," he said, resting back into his place, allowing me to cuddle back up to him. Carlisle just held the closed book in his hand gently, afraid to open it. It looked very frail. I sat silently, cuddling him, until he decided to open the book.

The leather spine crackled in protest as Carlisle opened it gently. Surprisingly the papers between were not stuck together in any way, although the writing was faded in the same way the writing on the letter had. I watched him, curiously, out of the corner of my eye watching his reactions to the pages within.

His expression was unreadable for several minutes until it changed to a look of sadness again.

"What's the matter?" I asked him, wondering what could make him so sad behind the eyes. Carlisle let out a nervous exhale, tilting the book towards me. I looked at the page. His mothers writing was much neater and cleaner than his fathers. I could make out almost every word.

_Mine small babe, I feeleth thee within me. I believeth thee art a knave, for I has't hath heard the calleth of God in mine rest telleth me of thee. Mine love for thee groweth each passing day. The desire for thee to cometh ere thy time to hold thee in mine arms is most wondrous. Thee art protected within mine body, and I eke desire to keepeth thee within me for all time. Thee art loved already mine baby._

The entry of pages ended there. It had been the last thing she had wrote. Likely it was shortly before she went into labor.

"She wrote to me while I was still in her," my husbands voice choked up, and I turned to him. If he could have produced tears, they would have rolling down his cheeks.

"Carlisle," I whispered softly, pulling his close. His hand holding the book fell against my back as he buried his face against my hair.

"I don't understand," I heard him mumbled against my curls.

"Understand what, my love?" I asked, hoping he would lift his head to talk to me. Instead he turned his head just enough, so his voice wasn't muffled.

"How I feel so much love for someone I never knew," he said, sadness pouring out in his tone, "And how I have so much hate for someone who was supposed to love me," he added, hiding his face again. I couldn't help in that moment but let my mouth slip the irony of his words from my brain.

"Welcome to the last 4 years of my human life," I said, numbly, thinking the same of my ex husband and my son. _How does one feel so much love for someone they never knew, and so much hate for some who was supposed to love them?_ Such a simple answer now that I had put it behind me. The anger stemmed from abuse, the love from a mother's love for her child.

I felt my husband lift his head again and his eyes met mine. A painful look, as if his golden eyes were saying _Esme_ softly, the realization him finally understanding my pain from all those years ago. His painful look only morphed into dry sobs as he pulled me as tightly as he could into a hug. To comfort himself, or me, I wasn't sure. But embraced him back just as hard.

"A mothers love is one that both mother and child feel forever," I said to him, my voice soft and tone gentle. Carlisle just cried softly into my embrace. I hushed him gently, my hands on his back rubbed slow circles to try and calm him, "Everything will be ok, love," I whispered, "I promise,".

He sobbed into my arms until the sun had long set and it had grown dark. When his quiet crying had ceased, he had closed his eyes, nestling up to my chest and if he were human, he would have fallen asleep in my arms, exhaustion from grief having drained his ability to stay away. He lay against me; his rhythmic breathing was inhaling my scent to keep him calm. He hadn't moved in hours. The old leather journal had long been forgotten, and I had placed it safely on the nightstand.

It wasn't until around midnight I forced myself to slip away from him for a moment and climb off the bed. He groaned, shifting slightly,

"Sshhhh, I'll be back in a minute," I hushed him with a gentle tone, running the back side of my fingers over his cheek ever so softly. He settled back into the pillow I had been laying against. I smiled weakly at him. Seeing him laying there, he seemed so physically exhausted, even though impossible. My husband looked as if every ounce of energy had been drained from his being.

I sighed to myself, swiftly changing into my night clothes, washing the makeup off my face, and then slipped back onto bed, sitting with one leg hanging off the edge yet.

The light of the lamp on the nightstand beside me was the only illumination. Its soft warm bulb had a calming effect to the atmosphere of the room. Carlisle shifted slightly as I sat.

"You shouldn't rest in your dress clothes, my love," I told him softly, and reached towards him, gently unbuttoning his dress shirt. He opened his eyes partly and met mine. The golden hue had drained away so quickly, and barely any remained. As I reached the last button he sighed heavily, forcing himself to get off the bed and take his clothes off. The were thrown in a pile at his feet before he clicked under the covers in only his underwear. I sighed myself, also climbing under, turning out the light, and snuggling up together. He slipped his arms around my waist, burying his face against the crook of my neck. I lovingly ran my fingers through his hair, soothingly massaging his scalp. He settled back into his relaxed state of mind, inhaling my scent. He lay there, still as he could be, holding onto me for comfort as he attempted his best to mimic human sleep.

I lay there with him, completely alert, my mind swimming.

_Would my husband ever heal from the hurt of his past?_

_Did he trust me enough to let me in entirely?_

_Who was Carina?_


	7. Carina

**Esme's POV**

Eventually I managed to relax my mind enough to close my eyes and let the hours pass as I listened to Carlisle breathing my scent in. It was 4 hours before either of us moved from our spots. I turned onto my side and nuzzled my nose into the crook of his neck.

"I'll come with you to hunt," was the first thing I said to him all night. He sighed,

"I don't need to hunt," he said. His voice was deeper than normal. I touched his cheek softy.

"Your eyes are already black," I told him.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. I pulled away from him just enough to see his face.

"Look at me," I said to him, making him bury his face against my hair. I exhaled annoyed, "Carlisle, look at me," I told him harsher.

He sighed to himself and opened his eyes. Hungry didn't even begin to describe his eyes. They were darker than I had ever seen them. His face had almost become gaunt around the eyes.

"Carlisle," I said, seeing his eyes.

Carlisle closed his eyes again and pulled me closer to him, nestling against my chest.

"We'll go tonight," he said, knowing fighting about it with me wasn't a battle he would win, "Don't make me go now," he asked me. I nodded, running my fingers through his hair.

"Ok, we'll go later," I said to him. I cradled my arms around him.

"You're tense, dear," he said softly to me.

"Sorry," I said, forcing my body to relax.

"What's the matter?" he asked, looking up at me. I shook my head.

"Nothing love," I told him, not wanting to bring up the subject when he was feeling so run down from last nights emotions. He sat up partially.

"Tell me, hun," he coaxed, and touched my cheek softly.

"It's not important," I tried to play it off. Carlisle gently grasped my wrist as I toyed with the tousle of hair that hung on his forehead.

"It's important if it's bothering you," he said, and I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn't bothering me, but he stopped me before I could, "And if you're tense, I know it's bothering you," he added. I sighed, sinking back down into the bed until I was laying down, lying beside him, our faces only a few inches apart. He gently tucked my hair behind my left ear. I sighed, reach up, resting my hand over his where it lingered on my cheek for a moment.

"The letter from your father," I began, and Carlisle nodded slightly.

"What about it?" he asked, running his hand down my jaw and over my shoulder, allowing it to come to a rest on my waist.

"Who is….Carina?" I asked, and then nervously swallowed, seeing him sink back into himself slightly. He was silent for several long seconds, and then tore his eyes awake from mine, "Carlisle?" I questioned.

"You're right, it's not important," he said, and tried to roll over, but I caught his hand before it left my waist.

"No!" I said, raising my voice a little louder than our previously gentle, quiet tones, "You can't do that!"

He rolled back to where he had been, and I softened my tone again.

"You wanted me to tell you what was bothering me, and that's it," I told him. Carlisle let out an uneven exhale. His hand came back up to cup my cheek again.

"Esme," he whispered, "Why the one thing I didn't want to bring up?" he asked me in a near whisper.

"Carlisle," I sighed.

"You don't need to worry about her… It's the past. She's…long gone," he said quietly, leaning in and closing his eyes. I watched as our noses brushed against each other. I leaned in a touch closer, sealing our lips softly in a kiss.

"Carlisle," I breathed his name softly. He caressed my cheek carefully.

"Please Esme. I can't…talk about it," he said, on the verge of breaking down. He swallowed hard, and hid his face in my chest, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sat there for a long moment, holding him. His body was shaking as he tried to control his emotions.

"How does a bath sound?" I asked him softly, changing the subject. I didn't want to upset him any more than he already was. He'd dealt with enough already. He loosened his embrace and gave me a partial smile and a nod.

I smiled back before kissing his forehead and slipped off the bed, glancing back at him with a smile before slipping into the bathroom.

I knelt, beside the tap, running the water hot and plugging the drain. I threw my hair up in a bun to keep it dry, and then sat on the edge of the tub, swaying my right hand through the scorching water as it rose at a painfully slow rate. The air was filling with steam despite the bathroom door lingering open halfway. I reached for the little bubble bath bottle that hotels always set out for you. As I poured the entire contents of the tiny bottle under the tap, I felt a gentle hand across my back.

Carlisle had pulled himself from the bed and wandered not the bathroom as he had been; just in his underwear. I stood from my seat on the edge of the porcelain tub to stand in front of his, and I ran my hands up his chest. He gently caressed my cheek as our opposite coloured eyes met.

"Climb in," I whispered to him softly. He seemed to ignore my offer and pulled me closer to him, his hands cupping my neck and jaw on both sides. His lips captured mine, and soon following his hands slid down my shoulders, as we kissed, pulling the thin straps of my nightgown down them.

It hung around my breasts for a brief moment before loosely sliding down my body and melting into a puddle at my feet. My breathing hitched slightly as my bare chest grazed against his, exciting my nipples. Carlisle's lips left mine as he reached past me for the tap, turning off the water before it rose too much. Then pulled away from me to close the bathroom door, allowing the still rising steam to slowly cloud the bathroom to a haziness. I turned around to looked at the bath and how much it had filled during my distraction.

Hands found their way around my waist and lips to my neck, making me smile to myself. I reached back, slipping my thumbs into the elastic of his boxer-briefs and sliding them down, over his hips and felt his arousal growing against my backside. I supressed a growl in throat, as his underwear fell to the floor and his fingers began pulling mine down. My panties fell around my ankles and his hands slid down, forcing me to snatch his wrist.

"The water's getting cold," I whispered, leaning my head back and nipping gently at his throat. There water would have stayed hot for over an hour just sitting in the tub, but I was just trying to tease him and lighten his mood, "Come, love," I said, pulling him by the hand into the tub. The hot water hissed as it touched our icy skin when we sunk into the water. Carlisle relaxed against the back of the tub, and I nestled into the space beside him, cuddling against his side, the bubbles ticking my chest.

"This is nice," he said softly once we had relaxed entirely, and the water had stopped swaying. The cracking that the bubbles made as they popped was the only sound in the room. Carlisle hand one arm wrapped around my shoulder, whist the other was stroking my thigh, somewhere beneath the bubbles.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against his skin, as I ran my hand over his chest. He was silent but looked down at me. I nuzzled his neck with my nose, "I know how difficult it is for you to open up to me and tell me your past," I stuttered, choking slightly on my words, afraid of saying something wrong, "But it means the world to me," I told him. His hand fell away from my thigh, and he sighed quietly. There was a long silence between us, "Carlisle, please," I whispered, pressing my lips to his throat. I felt a soft rumble in his chest he as he held back his growl of enjoyment. I continued to place kiss on his neck and chest for several minutes. He remained unmoving for over five minutes and I stayed quiet hoping maybe he would open up, but he didn't.

We ended up laying in the water until all the bubbles had dissipated and the water had grown cold. I sighed, as the two of us climbed out of the tub. I wrapped my body in an oversized fluffy towel and knelt down to drain the water. Carlisle dried himself off, wrapped his towel around his waist and left the bathroom. I hung my head, resting it on my arms at the edge of the tub, watching the little whirlpool form as the water flowed away. Only when the tub was empty, did I stand up, and face myself in the mirror.

Droplets of water clung to my pale body; my bun was slightly frazzled from resting against my husband's chest. I let out a heavy exhale, pulling my hair free of its updo. I ran my fingers through the curls to tame them. Pulling the towel a little tighter, I stepped out of the bathroom, flicking the light off.

As I rounded the corner, I noticed the sky beginning to lighten ever so slightly, as it was just past 5 AM.

"Love?" I heard my husband ask softly from the bed. I tore my line of sight from the window, and over to him. He was back in his spot, resting against his pillow. Just the sheets covered his lower half; his towel was in a pile on the ground. I gave him a soft smile as he gently beckoned me towards him with both hands. I sighed softly with a grin and sauntered over to my side of the bed, before letting my towel softly hit the floor and I slipped my naked body under the sheets, cozying up to his. He pulled me tightly to his chest, allowing me to inhale the scent that was _just him_.

I felt his lips against my forehead and a deeply relieving exhale come from his body.

"Carina Smyth," he whispered against my skin. I refrained from furrowing my brow and looked up at him. His eyes met mine. He seemed extremely hesitant to say any more.

"What?" I questioned, hoping to press him for a bit more than that. I let my hands slip over his chest as he embraced me gently.

"Her name was Carina Smyth," he repeated, a little louder but still in a very quiet tone. I knew pressing him too hard and too quickly would make him shut down again, so I gave him a simple reply.

"That's a very beautiful name," I told him softly. I saw the edge of his lips turned upward ever so slightly.

"So is Esme," he said with a tiny smile, pressing another kiss to my forehead.

"So you've told me," I teased him lightly. Carlisle let out just the softest chuckle at me and then his expression became composed again.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," he told me, looking back down into my eyes again, "And love, I'm very sorry," he added. I shook my head carefully and reached up to kiss his lips lightly with a peck.

"Honesty would imply that you lied. Being afraid to talk about your past isn't the same thing as lying," I assured him, sensing that he was afraid I would be angry with him. it was his turn to shake his head.

"No, I have lied… and the fact that I lied to you makes me feel so much worse," he said, his voice shaky. I cupped his cheek softly with one hand.

"Then tell me the truth," I said to him as sweet and softly as I could; taking extra care to ensure there was no display of emotion he could take as mistaken anger or doubt. Carlisle hesitated and I stroked his cheek bone gently with my thumb, "Hey…" I whispered soothingly, "I lied to you. I told you I was a widow when I first woke up," I said, pursing my lips lightly to try and ease his fear, but he remained unsure of continuing, "Carlisle… whatever it is, I promise I won't be mad. I couldn't be mad at you for anything about your past,"

He swallowed nervously, shifted as if he was uncomfortable, and leaned a little away from me, adding a few inches of distance between us. My one hand still was able to touch his face, but I ran it down his arm to calm him.

"I lied about not having friends," he said, and then sighed, "And about not being with any women before you," he finished, his eyes falling away from mine.

It became my turn to swallow nervously. The first one I could care less about; the second was a bit harder to stomach. But I stayed quiet and kept my soft composure. Carlisle caught the glimpse of uneasiness that had reared it lovely head in my eyes.

"Carlisle," I whispered to him, touching his cheek softly. He ran one hand through his hair.

"My love," he began, pulling me closer, "Before I tell you…. I just want you to know… you're the only woman I've ever been with…intimately," he said, his voice trying to be assuring. I believed him, but somewhere in the back of my mind I was hesitating.

"Carlisle…just tell me," I requested softly, nuzzling into his neck. Our bare flesh against one another was comforting to say the least. He sighed,

"Carina was my age," he began, and reached out to touch a strand of hair that fell in my face, "She was a bakers daughter, but she took a particular interest in medicine," he said, and I couldn't help but notice the tiny smile that crossed his lips. Perhaps that was where his interest in medicine stemmed from, "Every day in the morning, my father would send me to get the bread. Carina was always there, and we would strike up small talk each day," he continued. I gave him a soft encouraging smile, "I can't deny after many years I had become quite smitten with her," he told me.

"You knew each other for a long time?" I asked, our eyes meeting. He half shrugged but nodded.

"The earliest I can remember talking to her was probably around 12 years of age… I had probably met her many times before when my father would have to drag me to along to the shop himself. But once he began sending me alone, we became acquainted with one another," he told me. I felt his muscles relax as the fond memory of this girl form his childhood seemed to calm him nerves and make it easier to speak of her.

"The year of my change, when she became interested in the medicine, rumours started going around that she was…a witch," Carlisle said, a nervousness in his voice. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"A witch?" I asked. Carlisle nodded.

"It was a thing that swept through Europe, and fears were still running through many," he told me, "If anyone was too haggard looking, had extreme beauty for someone who shouldn't in the social class they were part of, or someone who practiced things out of the ordinary, such as self made medical remedies, could be tried as witch,"

My mouth hung open slightly, but he continued on,

"Carina and I were in different social classes. I wasn't wealthy by any means, but she was lower on the social ladder than I…" he explained, and began fiddling with my hair nervously, "She was a kind girl though. Very enchanting for a girl of her social standings… and myself, being as smitten I was with her, would often steal her away at times to spend some time with her,"

I only watched his expression change to one that looked unsure.

"My father, he saw her as a peasant, being the baker's daughter. He didn't like her at all. But I was defiant. I embraced her, stole kisses when I could. When my father got older, I began wondering if I could marry Carina once he had passed. It was only his wrath I feared. Her parents adored me. She loved me. I could care less what the people of our parish felt," he said. I cupped his cheek softly.

"You loved her," I said quietly to him. I could see that pain was beginning to grow in his eyes and made me fear this story did not end with a happy couple.

"On the night of my change, before I had gathered the men for our raid, Carina had brought a letter to me. She seemed distraught over it but ran off before I had the chance to talk to her,"

My mind was pulled to the letter my husband had not opened. He seemed to notice and answered my question before I even asked it.

"Yes, that is the other letter that was in the box," he said, his face falling, "I never got to open it that night, because after my change I ran from the city in fear of hurting anyone,"

I swallowed nervously, wanting to know exactly what was in that letter, because even Carlisle didn't know or could tell me.

"It was 3 weeks before I came close to going near the city again. When I finally got close to humans, I found out that Carina was going to be condemned as witch," he said, his eyes becoming heavy again, "Under the cover of night I snuck into her home to try and take her away with me,"

**Carlisle's POV **_**(flashback while he tells Esme)**_

_I silently climbed through the window of the bakery, landing softly on the wooden floor. There were three soft heartbeats coming from the floor above me. I looked around in the darkly shadowed room. Everything was neatly put away for the evening. The fireplace was lightly burning, only a few soft flames flickered between the remains of the wood. Cautiously I climbed the ladder that led to the second floor. It was darker up here, but my vision had no problem identifying where the three humans were laying in the room. _

_I spotted her, snuggled up under her ratted blanket, looking so peaceful in her sleep. I felt pulled towards her. I had grown so used to seeing my love on a daily basis that having gone three weeks without seeing her had been more torturous than the pain my throat was currently in, being in such close proximity to her. I reached a hand toward her sleeping form, hesitant to touch her and wake her. she looked so perfect._

_Fate decided for me. She grumbled and rubbed her eyes, opening them. I could have moved so quickly in the moment she stirred and have been gone before she saw me, but my body froze. Her eyes met mine in the dark and my inner voices started panicking. She smiled,_

"_Carlisle," she grumbled softly. She must have believed she was dreaming. She reached for me and as her hot flesh met mine, she jumped back in shock, sitting up in her bed, "Oh my god!" she shouted softly. _

"_Ssh sshh shh," I hushed her, not wanting her to wake her parents. I glanced over at them, and luckily that had not stirred form their slumber. _

"_Carlisle," she breathed and lunged at me, enveloping me in a hug. Three weeks without human contact, I had longed so much for her touch, but now I never feared it more. I forced myself to stop breathing as her throat was inches from my mouth. I could hear her blood as it pulsed heavily through her veins._

_She pulled away as her father mumbled and rolled over, luckily not waking._

"_Come," she said, pulling me down to the first floor, and immediately began to stoke the fire, adding to it so it came to life, illuminating the room. I instinctively sunk into the shadows at the corner of the room. She looked worried as she came closer._

"_Please, darling. Stay back," I said to her in a low voice. She stopped._

"_Carlisle," she said, her voice just a low, ensuring our conversation didn't wake anyone, "You've been missing for weeks. You-…your father said… a- a demon-" she stuttered. Seeing her so distraught instinctively pulled me from the shadows and in half a second, I had her in a hug, barely keeping in mind how strong I was. "I thought you were dead," she said, and began crying in my arms. I cradled her head against my chest, the thought of thirst sinking to the back of my mind. My love was in hysterics. Her pulsing veins and heavily beating heart were not my concern._

"_I am so sorry to have worried you my dearest," I whispered to her. she looked up at me, still embraced in my arms and her hands came up to cup my cheeks._

"_What happened to you?" she asked, her deep brown eyes baring into mine, "Your eyes…" she whispered, the gold in them being illuminated by the fire, "You're so cold," she whimpered and then pressed her head to my chest. I felt her tense upon not hearing my heartbeat but did not back away from me._

"_I'm a monster now," I choked out, closing my eyes, and holding her warm body. She pulled away from me a little further, and a worried she now feared me._

"_Darling, I don't care what happened. You came back," she told me, and once again cupped my cheeks._

"_I could hurt you," I told her, "I don't want to hurt you," I felt myself wanting to cry._

"_Sshhh, my love. You won't hurt me," she whispered, and gave me that soft reassuring smile that almost instantly relaxed my nerves. Then she pulled my face closer and kissed my lips softly. I couldn't reciprocate, for fear of losing control. When her lips left mine, I opened my eyes and she smiled at me. "If you're so afraid, why did you force yourself to come back?" she asked me. I had to swallow the pooling venom in my mouth._

"_I came to warn you," I told her, the reason for my dangerous mission into town, came back into my mind, "The townspeople, they're condemning you come sunrise," I breathed feverishly. Her face willed with worry for only a moment._

"_You heard this?" she asked, her hands running through my hair._

"_Please my love, they're afraid of you. They think you're a witch," I pleaded to her._

"_How can they do such a thing?" she asked me, and I pulled her into my arms, nestling my face in the crook of her neck, wishing I could produce tears._

"_Please come with me," I begged her as she hugged me back softly._

"_I can't," she whispered, pain in her voice. I lifted my head, looking in her eyes, "I can't Carlisle," she told me._

"_Carina Smyth, you listen to me," I told her firmly, "If they condemn you for witchcraft, they will hang you,"_

_She bit her lip nervously, "I can't leave my family, Carlisle. If I disappear hours before they come for me, my parents will pay the price. I can't do that to them," _

_I grabbed her wrists and held them firmly in panic._

"_And I will not lose you to the gallows. You will not have any part of a quick drop and a sudden stop," I demanded, remembering to keep my voice low enough. _

"_Carlisle Cullen, you look at me," she said, touching my chin and lifting my head to meet her eyes. her beautiful brown eyes were so enchanting, they could mesmerize me so easily, "This had been a long time coming… I always knew they would turn on me… And I want you to tell me something… If you hadn't...changed? What would you do now?" she asked me, and I froze again. What would I do? Would run away with her? Could I abandon my father and home to run away with this girl and nothing else? _

_Her eyes gazed into mine and I sighed in defeat. I couldn't stay and watch her be sentenced to death. But she refused to go with me. And I would not force upon her the existence that had been forced on me._

"_My darling… please, I can't lose you,"_

_My plea was breaking her but she shrank away from me for a moment._

"_Carlisle… I love you, but you can't help me… you need to go before they come. If they find out about you, your father will burn you at the stake himself," she told me, extremely firmly. I finally let go of her wrists. The emptiness I felt not being touched my her brought a whimper from my chest. She only looked at me for a moment, before cupping my cheeks again, "Please my love, I can't bear the thought of him doing that to you,"_

_My eyes caught the glow of the sun as it began rising in the dark sky. I was running out of time. Quickly._

"_Carina we have to go," I told her, my ears picking up voices in the distant. Humans were headed our way, many of them. I grabbed her arm and tried to pull her along gently, but she wouldn't budge._

"_Go Carlisle," she told me, and I wildly shook my head._

"_I won't!" I won't I told her, raising my voice. _

_The floor above us creaked and Carina's face filled with panic. _

"_Carina?" a gruff mans voice asked from above us. Her parents had woken at the commotion. If they came down, I would have to bolt, without her. The group of angry humans were nearing, their angry chatter becoming louder._

"_Carina please," I begged feebly. She only hesitated for a second before she threw herself into my arms and crashed her lips against mine. This time I didn't hold back as I kissed her harder than I ever had before. As the commotion became dangerously near, she pulled her lips from mine._

"_I will always love you, Carlisle Cullen," she whispered before backing away from me, "Now please…go," she told me. The humans reached the door and began banging forcefully, trying to break it in. Her father was crossing the floor above us. He eyes searched frantically for a way to make me leave._

"_Carina," I barely choked out._

"_GO!" she screamed at me and reached across the table beside her._

_Fresh flowing human blood filled my nostrils and I cut off my breath. But my throat was on fire, clawing at the scent that had reached my nose._

_My eyes fell to her palm, where she had swiftly run a knife over her flesh, exposing her as nothing more than a meal. Our eyes locked._

"_Go," she whispered, almost mouthing it to me, and I tore my eyes from hers, and turned, throwing myself out the window I had snuck in and ran. My head was telling me to run, but my heart and legs were trying to stop me desperately._

_I heard her scream in protest as they captured her. I heard them cheer when they had. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and kill every last man in that house to save her. But I couldn't._

_I just ran…and ran…and ran…_

"Carlisle…" her voice was distant in my ears.

I had zoned out entire as the story I was telling her took over my mind. I had been hypnotized by it. I was now looking at the ceiling of our hotel room again.

"Carlisle…" she whispered again, and I felt her nuzzle against me. I forced myself to move and looked down at my wife, who had a great amount of pain in her eyes. a lump had formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, hoping to get rid of it.

"They killed her…" I choked out. I had not witnessed it or been anywhere near the city, but I knew. They had killed her. "They took her from me…and they killed her,"

**AN: Yes I know I didn't use Shakespearean langue in the flashback, but I felt using normal English would convey the emotion of the moment much better.**


	8. Favorite Relic of London

**Esme's POV**

Carlisle was in so much pain. The hurt in his eyes was as plain as day. I could see how much he had loved this woman. I nuzzled my nose into his neck and breathed gently on his skin to relax him.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered softly to him and gave him soft kisses on his collar bone. He held my tighter.

"It hurts…to think about her… and it hurts… to try and forget about her," he cried softly. I ran my fingers through his hair as he shifted and cried into my chest.

"It's ok love," I soothed him, cradling his head to me. Even crying he continued to confide in me.

"I left her. I let them take her…" he sobbed, "I should have grabbed her and taken her with me,"

"You loved her…" I soothed him, "You ran to keep yourself from hurting her," I tried to assure him that what he did was not his fault.

Part of me wanted to hold him, comfort him, soothe him. His sobs made my un-beating heart hurt. It put a heavy pain in my chest. It made me want to cry for him. But there was a part of me that was hurt by holding my husband who was pouring out his heart and soul to me over his love for another woman.

"I'm so sorry, Esme," he cried, pressing his lips to my neck. I nestled my cheek against his temple.

"What for?" I asked, confused about why he was apologizing to me. Carlisle just nuzzled my neck more, trying to control his sobs.

"I'm making you feel terrible," he said to me. I looked down at him.

"What?" I questioned, "Carlisle, you're upset. You're letting go of pain you've held on for nearly four centuries. I'm here for you. Don't you worry about me for a second," I told him softly. One of his hands slipped from my bare waist up to my ribs; his thumb brushed the fold beneath my breast.

"I'm sorry though," he said sadly, "I feel awful for doing this to you,"

"Doing what?" I asked, "There's nothing wrong," I assured him.

"I'm laying naked in a hotel bed, with my very beautiful and caring wife of almost a century… and crying into your shoulder about the first woman I loved….as if don't care about you," he choked out and began to cry again. I ran my fingers through his hair again, playing gently with the hairs at the nape of the neck.

I knew I had to be honest with him, but I didn't want him to feel worse about it.

"I'm so sorry that you lost her. I can tell how much you loved her. Your pain is radiating off you so much that it's hurting me," I told him honestly, "But if I could thank that woman, I would… Because her sacrifice, brought you to me… and you've made me the happiest woman in existence," I told him and pressed my lips over his. He relaxed as we kissed softly for a moment. When our lips parted, he shifted and dipped his head, softly kissing the side of my breast. And then up my neck, and back down my shoulder, before sealing his lips around my nipple.

A reflexive moan escaped my lips before I sighed and looked down at him.

"Carlisle," I protested gently, but he sucked harder, "Carlisle stop," I mumbled, and he lifted his head, "You're not in a good state of mind for this," I told him, and he sighed, relaxing back beside me.

"Esme, my love…my beautiful wife…I love you so much…" he sighed, "I'm sorry-"

"Carlisle," I cut him off, "Don't apologize…for feeling emotions," I told him firmly. He sighed in a defeated way, "I want to hear everything that's going through your mind. I want you to relax, and let go of the pain," I soothed him calmly.

He brought his head up and rested it atop my breast.

"I loved her," he sighed, "but not enough…because she's gone,"

"Carlisle, no amount of love will keep anyone alive forever," I told him truthfully, "I don't want to hurt you more, but that idea is impossible," I said, making him hold me tighter, "One day, we'll all go,"

"No!" he gasped, pain in his tone, "I won't lose you too," he sounded scared again.

"Carlisle…" I said, "Something will separate us one day. You know that. It will be an accident, or the Volturi, or something worse,"

"Esme, please…don't talk about that. I can't bear the thought of losing you… I lost Carina…and I was broken for so long… if I lose you, I'll have nothing to live for," he said, his body and voice shaking. I pulled myself up into a semi sitting position and slowly rocked him against my chest.

"I feel the same way, Carlisle, but I don't let the thoughts consume me," I told him, "You're letting the pain of losing Carina consume you. You're afraid of the same thing happening all over again," I told him, making him realized his fear that was deep inside. He nodded against my skin, squeezing his eyes shut, almost attempting to force himself to produce tears. They would never come though. "I know it hurts, but just let it out," I said, stroking my thumb over his cheek, "Just talk about her. Tell me, my love. Tell me about this woman who captured the heart of a beautiful, blonde, young boy, who is my doting husband," I encouraged. He looked up, giving me just the weakest smile.

"She was kind, good hearted. Caring, loving. So much like you. You remind me of her in so many ways now that I think about it," he told me and I smiled, "She was mothering; she would take bread from the shop and feed the children in the streets. You would have been best friends. So much alike,"

"What did she look like?" I prodded.

"She was a little taller than you; there was French in her heritage. Her mothers side. Slender, but not from genetics, from lack of nutrition," he said and then went off on a tangent, "I always payed her bit more than what the bread was worth, hoping she would get more food,"

"You've always been so caring," I smiled kindly at him. he let out a half chuckle.

"She had deep brown eyes, darker then you had as a human. I could have called them black on a cloudy day. He hair was as dark as her eyes were, and it fell just past her breast. And it was…very curly. But that frazzled kind of curly. Not in the way that your hair curls, which is very gently and tame," he said, a soft smile coming across his lips as he toyed my wavy hair. I giggled lightly, playing with his blonde locks, "I tried to discourage her when she took her interest in medicine, in fear that the parish people would see her as a witch," he added, and squeezed me a little tighter to comfort himself.

"Is she the reason you took up an interest in medicine?" I asked, and he nodded smile a remising smile.

"It wasn't until the fear of witches died off and medicine became a more prominent thing," he began, "But I always wanted to help people. I did do it for her though… and I love it," he said, resting his cheek against my shoulder.

"I'm glad you found your calling," I said sweetly.

"Thank you," he whispered to me, and kissed my neck. I decided to ask him about the question that was prodding in my mind.

"You said…you wanted to marry her?" I asked him and he gave my neck another kiss before looking down at the comforter that covered us.

"It was in my mind as we got older," he said with a sigh, "I wanted to take her, and protect her… I had this idea in my mind that when my father passed, and I inevitably took over the parish…I would ask her to marry me and take her in and look after her. Care for her," he told me, and I felt his hand ghost over my skin under the sheets, resting on my stomach, which brought another question to mind.

"Was a family ever on your mind?" I asked quietly, as his hand over my stomach slid a little further down to rest above where my uterus sat forever frozen. My hand moved down, and I tangled my fingers among his.

"It was expected that heirs to every family name be produced. I may have thought about the possibility if having a family with her… But I never truly had any desire to have children of my own until I fell in love with you," he said, which made me smile sadly. I sighed.

I had craved to have a child with him for a long time. It had burned in the front of my mind for the first decade of our marriage, the back of my mind for another decade, and then sat in my subconscious until Renesmee was born, when I had a breakdown upon learning from Bella and Edward's circumstances, that I was the barren one, and not Carlisle. It was truly something that had hurt me more than the idea of not having a baby at all. I had felt like I was keeping him from having a family.

"_Esme, love? Are you alright?" Carlisle's soft voice asked as he entered our bedroom. I was curled up in the center of our bed, still dressed in the sweater dress and leggings I had been in when Bella and Edward arrived home. I had kicked my heels onto the floor a long time again, and laid there for most of the evening alone, clutching the pillow, before my husband came to find me. _

_I assume he had been so wrapped up with Bella's condition and arguing with Edward over terminating the pregnancy, that he hadn't even noticed when I disappeared. _

"_I'm fine… go away," I mumbled, when he called my name; wishing there was tears streaming down my face. I couldn't face him right now. There were too many emotions running through me. Anger at him and Edward for even suggesting they kill a child; sadness that this situation was tearing my family apart at the seams; pity on myself, when I realized that having a baby was my fault, and not my husbands._

"_Esme," he sighed, and I heard him cross the room towards me. The bed shifted as he sat towards my back, "My love," he whispered, his hand coming to a rest on my hip._

"_I can't Carlisle… I just-…I want to be alone right now," I choked out, my heart hurting for pushing my mate away._

"_I'm sorry my love," he told me, pain in his voice. I inhaled sharply and buried my face deeper into the pillow. _

"_It's not fair," I cried, letting a dry sob escape. _

"_I'm sorry, darling," he whispered again, laying down with me. I just cried…_

Of course, he comforted me through it, and we moved on together. Relishing in the sweet baby that was our granddaughter.

Carlisle pulled back the covers partially, and placed soft kisses low on my stomach, and I allowed my eyes to slip closed for just a moment. For just a moment I could let my imagination drift to a fantasy where a child was growing in my womb, fluttering around as our baby grew.

"Carlisle," I sighed, as his lips graced my skin. He began kissing his way back up my torso, until he reached my jaw again.

"Can I ask you something?" I probed, as one hand came up and kneaded one breast softly. Carlisle mumbled a "yes" against my throat. I nervously swallowed, "If you could go back and change everything, would you?" I asked, and immediately his lips froze, and his hand stopped moving.

"Esme," he sighed with a pleading tone, "How can you ask such a thing?" he questioned, almost appalled. I let my eyes roll up to the ceiling.

"I just want to know, Carlisle," I said. He pulled himself up onto his elbows.

"If you're asking if I would drop everything right now for the chance to go back and be with her, I would tell you no. You are far too precious to me to ever imagine such a thing…"

_Please don't say but-_

"But…if you're asking me if I had the choice to save myself the pain and the heartache I had gone through, without even knowing you, I would say yes... The pain that lurked over me, after losing the woman I loved, I would never wish that upon anyone," he explained. I nodded, and he pulled me close to him once more, embracing me in a hug.

"I'm sorry I ask that," I apologized in whisper. He shook his head.

"Please don't feel this way my love. I love you with all my heart," he assured me. I knew this fact very well.

"The letter," I said, my voice low. The last thing about this woman that plague my thoughts, "Will you open it?" I asked him. The look on his face was conflicting, "I'm sure you're dying to know what it says,"

Carlisle only let out a heavy exhale.

"I don't know if I do," he said quietly. I ran my fingers through his hair.

"You don't?" I asked softly.

"I'm afraid of what she wrote," he said, with lips against my skin. I sighed and shifted so I was facing him more.

"Why do you fear it?" I questioned, playing with a stray lock of hair. Carlisle was gently rubbing my upper arm.

"She was distraught when she gave it to me. I fear it was something that will make me regret not opening it immediately," he admitted, his eyes casting toward my neck as his hand came up and a single finger traced the shape of my collar bone.

"Carlisle, it can't be that bad… I mean…if you never went to bed with her…and you didn't know of anything else that could have been wrong, there shouldn't be anything shocking in that letter," I wanted to assure him. I truly believe it couldn't be that bad. He was worrying too much over it. He was still for a moment, before sliding out from covers and grabbed the letter from on top of the box before coming back over to me and sliding back into his spot, the letter clutched firmly but carefully in his hand. He sat himself up partially and I slipped and arm around his back, and snuggled up to his shoulder, pulling the covers over our bodies.

He turned the old paper in his hands and then slid his thumb under the wax seal. It cracked seamlessly. I watched Carlisle's hands as he nervously unfolded the paper, revealing the faded letting. I could make out Carlisle's name at the top. The scrawl, it was beautifully neat. I buried my face against my husband's skin and allowed him to read the letter.

I knew after a few moments he had finished when one hand gently weaved its way into my hair. I looked up and our eyes met. The look was one of extreme hurt.

"What is it?" I asked gently. His hand holding the letter fell, and rested on the covers, "Sweetheart?" I asked, touching his chest softly.

"It was a warning," he said in a barely audible breath. I furrowed my brow and stiffened.

"What?" I asked, shocked.

"The tarot cards…" he breathed again; he was dazed to appoint of not actually answering me, and instead letting his mind think back on something.

"Carlisle, love, I'm not on the same page…" I told him softly. He looked back down at the letter.

"Tarot cards," he said a bit louder, turning his head. I gazed into his eyes, begging silently for an explanation.

"You have to elaborate, my love. I don't understand," I requested kindly. Carlisle's eyes fell back to the letter.

"Carina…she-…she played around with tarot cards… They're a fate telling type of thing…." He began, the shock of what he had read was now plain behind his eyes. I nodded, understanding that part. "The morning before I was attacked…I had gone like every day to get the bread. Carina was waiting for me…As we talked, she started laying out her cards. I didn't understand why… Until I realized I was running later to return home and was about to rush out when she grabbed my hand…and asked me to pick a card," my husband explained. I stared at him curiously, unsure now. "She was laying out the cards for my fate…I flipped the card, pecked her on the cheek and left, telling her to tell me the reading tomorrow…"

I realized then that Carina had read Carlisle's fate, found something worth warning him of and had to tell him.

"Her letter says I flipped the card of death…and the others she mentions of lovers, loss, and a great burning, the world, the devil-" he cut himself off, "It's hard to explain how they work, Esme," he told me… "But she wrote to me, warning me of my death…" he said in a very dark voice, and let his head fall.

"Why…would she tell you such a thing in a letter?" I asked, curiously wondering the answer.

"She may have feared telling me, and being overheard by my father," he said, and closed the letter, looking at me. I gazed back, curiously. "What is it?" he asked.

"Do you know how to read the cards?" I asked him. he shook his head.

"She never taught me… I never took the interest…I was weary of the things," he admitted, setting the letter on the nightstand. "Enough about me for now," he sighed, and rolled over, hovering above me. His forearms held him up. I giggled lightly as he lowered his lips to the left side of my neck; the tip of his tongue ghosting over the silver scar.

"Carlisle," I breathed out, lust lightly building in my voice. My hands instinctively snaked around to the back of his neck and my fingers gently pulled the hair at the nape of his neck, "You promised you'd show me St. Paul's," I smirked, teasingly. I did want to see the cathedral, but I also wanted to just lay here with my husband and comfort him with sex…

And I did…

It was late into the afternoon of that Monday that we made love softly.

"I thought you wanted to see the old relics of London?" he asked with a smirk as he lay beside me, his hair tousled from our afternoon. I rolled half my body onto his chest, stroking his skin seductively with one hand, then laid my head down.

"My favorite old relic of London is right here," I smiled cheekily, straddling him. He only chuckled, pulling my lips to his.

**AN: For anyone wondering, Carina is basically inspired by Serafina the witch (AKA Eva Green) from The Golden Compass movie.**


	9. The Past Has Passed

**AN: Very short chapter but I think this is the end.**

**Carlisle's POV**

It was Thursday afternoon…We had returned home from London on Wednesday. I had spent late Monday and Tuesday taking Esme to several more places in London in an attempt to keep her mind off of Carina. I knew the idea of the girl had been bothering her, even though she had been insisting it didn't matter because it was the past. But I knew her better than that. She had been asking me about her ever since learning of her, and now that we were home, she was hesitant to talk to me about it.

I was sitting at my desk in my office, my eyes scanning the papers again. I had both letters in front of me. My eyes remained fixed to Carina's. Ever since I opened that letter. I, just as my wife, couldn't get her off my mind. So many questioned had floated through my mind. _Had she suffered? Why had she forced me to go? Why couldn't she come with me? Why didn't I open that damn letter sooner_?

I sighed, folding the letters carefully and pushing them too the side, laying my forehead on my arms, on my desk.

Centuries I had pushed the memories of my first love to the back of my mind, never allowing myself to feel the pain of losing her, and later, to not give Edward the opportunity to know. Now that the feelings and grief were flowing, I couldn't force them back to where they once were.

I heard her footfalls; the echoed click of her heels, as they approached my office, but a soft knocking on my office door is what made me lift my head.

"Come in," I said, leaning back in my chair. The door opened slowly, and Esme peered in just slightly before stepping in and closing the door behind her. She was in her typical blouse and skirt with heels style.

"Hey," she said, softly, timidly almost in a nervous way, "Are you ok?" she asked, remain still by the door, "You've been up here all day,"

My eyes met hers hesitantly. She had a soft expression of concern on her face but hiding behind her eyes was a hint of worry. I didn't answer he for a minute, but she stayed in her spot by the door.

"You don't look ok," she whispered, and slowly approached my desk, and came to stand beside me. She gently touched my cheek with one hand. I watched as her eyes catch glimpse of the letters on my desk. I hung my head as her eyes fell back to me. "Do you wanna talk about it?" she asked me softly. I sighed, exhaling deeply. Esme leaned on the edge of my desk, half sitting on it and gently stroke my cheek with her thumb until I lifted my head again.

"I pushed her from my mind for 300 years. I accepted she was gone. I fell in love with you, and I've never been happier…." I said, my eyes meeting hers once more, and then I had to close them, "And now I've never felt so… so…?"

I couldn't find the right word.

_Muddled? _No… _Regretful? _No…

"Unsure," my wife whispered, making me look up. I had to force myself to shake my head. I pulled her down onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her.

"I love you, that hasn't and never will change," I assured her, nuzzling my nose into the crook of her neck. She smiled softly.

"I know, Carlisle," she whispered gently, "But you've had her on your mind since you opened that letter," she murmured. I sighed.

"It's a life I forced myself to forget, and now its all surfaced again," I said, closing my eyes and pressing my lips to her skin. Her scent was so relaxing, calming me.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, running one hand through my hair, "I told you to go home,"

I looked up at her, and shook my head softly, pressing our foreheads together gently.

"It's not your fault," I assured her, "I just need to let her go again," I added. She sighed softly, closing her eyes now. She seemed sad. "It something bothering you, love?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"I'm fine," she said quietly. A lie; I could tell. I cupped her cheek softly, cradling it in my palm.

"Please, tell me?" I pressed, as she smiled sadly as the feeling of my flesh against her face.

"I just…" she stuttered and took a deep, unneeded breath, "I want things to go back," she sighed, her eyes opening and gazing into mine again. She continued at the sight of my slightly furrowed brow, "We've both been acting… different," she said, "Your mind has been off in another place, thinking of her. Worrying, pining. And I-… I can't seem to get any of it off my mind either….the entire trip, that is,"

"I apologize for being so distant," I told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "And for letting my troubles bear weight on you,"

"I know the past is the past…I shouldn't let it bother me," she shook her head softly. I gave her a gentle smile.

"Don't beat yourself up…it's a little concern…maybe jealousy, or curiosity… I do not blame you for having such feelings toward my past love, as I will admit, I felt many things; not proper of me; towards your former relations," I admitted to her, making her expression soften.

That was entirely true. Upon learning of my wife's former husband, back in the early months of her new life, I can admit I had many, very un-gentlemanly feelings towards the man. Bitterness, anger, jealousy.

"I'm not upset. Perhaps it's lingering shock… to learn of her after being married to you for nearly a century…You knew of my past relations before we even courted," she told me. I nodded in understanding, and her face softened, "But just like you, I'm trying to move past it and not let it interfere in our relationship as we move on," she told me softly, and stroked my cheek.

"Thank you," I whispered, and she tilted her head, "For being so…accepting of this," I told her.

"It's in the past," she said with a smile. I smiled back,

"I love you," I told her, and pressed our lips together. She giggled after a moment and kissed my neck.

"And I love you, darling," she smiled, nuzzling against me.


End file.
